Ghazal 61

O breeze, if your path should cross the land of the friend,

bring a fragrance from the ambergris tresses of the friend.

By his soul — in gratitude I would scatter my life

if you brought me a message from the presence of the friend.

And if at that court you are not granted audience,

for the sake of my eyes, bring a speck of dust from the door of the friend.

I, a beggar, and the wish for union with him — alas!

Perhaps only in dreams may I see the image of the friend.

My pine-cone heart trembles like a willow

from longing for the pine-like stature of the friend.

Though the friend would not buy us for a thing,

we would not sell a single hair from the head of the friend for all the world.

What would it be if his heart were freed from sorrow’s bond,

seeing that poor Hafez is the slave and servant of the friend?