Ghazal 98

If in your creed the blood of the lover is lawful,

our good is whatever you deem right.

The blackness of your dark tresses is the Maker of Darkness —

the whiteness of your moonlike face is the Cleaver of the Dawn.

From the curve of your lasso-like tresses no one found release —

from that bow of a brow and arrow of an eye, no escape.

From my eye a spring has formed, flowing alongside —

so deep that no swimmer dares cross its middle.

Your lip, like the Water of Life, is the strength of the soul —

our earthen existence finds its mention of resurrection from it.

Your ruby lip gave a kiss with a hundred pleas —

my heart’s desire was gained from it with a hundred thousand entreaties.

Prayer for your soul is the litany on the tongues of the yearning ones,

always, as long as evening and morning are joined.

Do not seek piety, repentance, and virtue from us, Hafez —

from the rend, the lover, the madman, no one ever found virtue.