Ghazal 412

مرا چشمی‌ست خون‌افشان ز دست آن کمان‌ابرو
جهان بس فتنه خواهد دید از آن چشم و از آن ابرو

غلام چشم آن ترکم که در خواب خوش مستی
نگارین گلشنش روی است و مشکین سایبان ابرو

هلالی شد تنم زین غم که با طغرا‌ی ابرو‌یش
که باشد مه که بنماید ز طاق آسمان ابرو؟

رقیبان غافل و ما را از آن چشم و جبین هر دم
هزاران گونه پیغام است و حاجب در میان، ابرو

روان گوشه‌گیران را جبینش طرفه گلزار‌ی‌ست
که بر طرف سمن‌زارش همی گردد چمان ابرو

دگر حور و پری را کس نگوید با چنین حسنی
که این را این چنین چشم است و آن را آن چنان ابرو

تو کافر‌دل نمی‌بندی نقاب زلف و می‌ترسم
که محرابم بگرداند خم آن دل‌ستان ابرو

اگر چه مرغ زیرک بود حافظ در هوادار‌ی
به تیر غمزه صیدش کرد چشم آن کمان‌ابرو

I have an eye that scatters blood because of that one with the bow eyebrow;
the world will see much turmoil from that eye and that eyebrow.

I am the slave of the eye of that Turk who, in the sweet sleep of drunkenness,
has a face for a painted rose garden and an eyebrow for a musky canopy.

My body has become a crescent with this grief: beside the royal cipher of his eyebrow,
who is the moon, that it should show an eyebrow from the arch of the sky?

The rivals are unaware, while from that eye and brow, every moment,
a thousand kinds of message reach us, and the go-between is the eyebrow.

For the soul of those who live withdrawn, his brow is a wondrous rose garden,
along the edge of whose jasmine bed the eyebrow goes strolling.

No one will speak again of houri and fairy before such beauty,
saying that this one has such an eye and that one such an eyebrow.

You, with your infidel's heart, do not fasten the veil of your tress, and I fear
that the curve of that heart-ravishing eyebrow will turn my prayer niche.

Though Hafez was a clever bird in the ways of love,
the eye of that bow-eyebrowed one brought him down with the arrow of a glance.