Ghazal 332

مزن بر دل ز نوک غمزه تیرم
که پیش چشم بیمارت بمیرم

نصاب حسن در حد کمال است
زکاتم ده که مسکین و فقیرم

چو طفلان تا کی ای زاهد، فریبی
به سیب بوستان و شهد و شیرم

چنان پر شد فضای سینه از دوست
که فکر خویش گم شد از ضمیرم

قدح پر کن که من در دولت عشق
جوانبخت جهانم گرچه پیرم

قراری بسته‌ام با می فروشان
که روز غم به جز ساغر نگیرم

مبادا جز حساب مطرب و می
اگر نقشی کشد کلک دبیرم

در این غوغا که کس کس را نپرسد
من از پیر مغان منت پذیرم

خوشا آن دم کز استغنای مستی
فراغت باشد از شاه و وزیرم

من آن مرغم که هر شام و سحرگاه
ز بام عرش می‌آید صفیرم

چو حافظ گنج او در سینه دارم
اگرچه مدعی بیند حقیرم

Do not strike my heart with the arrow of your glance,
for I would die before your languid eye.

The measure of your beauty is at the limit of perfection;
give me the alms that are due, for I am needy and poor.

How long, O ascetic, will you beguile me, as one does a child,
with the apple of the garden and honey and milk?

The space of my breast has been so filled with the friend
that the thought of myself has gone from my mind.

Fill the cup, for in the fortune of love
I am the world's young man of good fortune, though I am old.

I have made an agreement with the sellers of wine
that on the day of grief I will take up nothing but the cup.

May there be nothing but the account of minstrel and wine
if the pen of my scribe should draw any figure.

In this uproar, in which no one asks after anyone,
I am beholden to the Magian elder.

Happy the moment when, through the independence of drunkenness,
I am free of both king and vizier.

I am that bird whose whistling comes
from the roof of the Throne every evening and every dawn.

Like Hafez, I hold his treasure in my breast,
although the claimant sees me as something small.