Ghazal 051 from Divan of Hafez

The ruby of my beloved's lips, so parched, is now drunk with blood,
And to see her, giving my life is my task.

Shame on that black eye and those long lashes,
Whoever saw her steal hearts and denies my claim.

O caravan, don't pack your bags at the mountain pass,
For that road is the dwelling place of my beloved.

I am a slave to my own fate, in this drought of loyalty,
Love for that intoxicated wanderer is my buyer.

The drum of the flower's fragrance and her saffron-scattering tresses,
Are the grace of a single whiff of my perfumer's scent.

O gardener, don't drive me away from your door like a breeze,
For the water of your rose garden is from my rose-like tears.

My beloved ordered a sherbet of sugar and rosewater,
Her narcissus is the physician of my sick heart.

The one who taught Hafez the art of the ghazal,
Is my sweet-talking, rare-speaking beloved.