Ghazal 034 from Divan of Hafez

The arched doorway of my eye's vision is your nest,
So be gracious and descend, for this house is your home.

With the grace of your mole and your line, you stole the hearts of the mystics,
Such wondrous tricks are under your snare and bait.

May your heart be happy with the union of the rose, O nightingale of the morning breeze,
For in the meadow, all is the song of your love.

Entrust the cure for my heart's weakness to your lips,
For this exhilarating ruby is in your treasury.

I am poor in body from the wealth of serving you,
But the essence of my soul is the dust of your threshold.

I am not one to give the coin of my heart to every jest,
The door of the treasury is sealed with your seal and your mark.

What a plaything you are, O sweet-working king,
That a steed like the sky is tamed by your whip.

What place is there for me, for the juggler's sky to slip,
From these tricks that are in the quiver of your excuses?

Now the sky dances to the tune of your assembly,
For the poem of the sweet-speaking Hafez is your song.