If union with thee vouchsafed To me of the sky shall be
If union with thee vouchsafed To me of the sky shall be,
From Fortune for me what left, Whereafter to sigh, shall be?
What wonder if lovers throng And clamour it at thy door?
For, where is the sugar-cane, There also the fly shall be.
What need of a scimitar is, The lover to slay? For souls,
Like mine, half-alive, enough A glance of the eye shall be.
One breath in this world and that If I draw with the Friend, that breath
Enough of the goods for me Of the earth and the sky shall be.
Too short since for this my wish The hand of my fortune is,
What ableness mine to win Thy cypress anigh shall be?
Nay, where shall escape be found Of thy shipwreckéd one, for whom,
Before and behind, Love's flood Of woes piled high shall be?
A thousand times I with her Was private; yet, when again
She seeth me, “Who is this?” Lo, still her reply shall be.
Right goodly is rose-coloured wine And company eke of the Friend:
Poor Hafiz, heart-lorn, in desire Of these, till he die, shall be.
From Fortune for me what left, Whereafter to sigh, shall be?
What wonder if lovers throng And clamour it at thy door?
For, where is the sugar-cane, There also the fly shall be.
What need of a scimitar is, The lover to slay? For souls,
Like mine, half-alive, enough A glance of the eye shall be.
One breath in this world and that If I draw with the Friend, that breath
Enough of the goods for me Of the earth and the sky shall be.
Too short since for this my wish The hand of my fortune is,
What ableness mine to win Thy cypress anigh shall be?
Nay, where shall escape be found Of thy shipwreckéd one, for whom,
Before and behind, Love's flood Of woes piled high shall be?
A thousand times I with her Was private; yet, when again
She seeth me, “Who is this?” Lo, still her reply shall be.
Right goodly is rose-coloured wine And company eke of the Friend:
Poor Hafiz, heart-lorn, in desire Of these, till he die, shall be.
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