Ghazal 117: In the time of your face, our heart has no need of the meadow

دل ما به دور رویت ز چمن فراغ دارد
که چو سرو پایبند است و چو لاله داغ دارد

سر ما فرونیآید به کمان ابروی کس
که درون گوشه‌گیران، ز جهان فراغ دارد

ز بنفشه تاب دارم که ز زلف او زند دم
تو سیاه کم‌بها بین، که چه در دماغ دارد‌!

به چمن خرام و بنگر بر تخت گل که لاله
به ندیم شاه ماند که به کف ایاغ دارد

شب ظلمت و بیابان، به کجا توان رسیدن؟
مگر آن که شمع روی‌ات به رهم چراغ دارد

من و شمع صبح‌گاهی سزد ار به هم بگرییم
که بسوختیم و از ما بت ما فراغ دارد

سزدم چو ابر بهمن که بر این چمن بگریم
طرب آشیان بلبل، بنگر که زاغ دارد

سر درس عشق دارد دل دردمند حافظ
که نه خاطر تماشا نه هوای باغ دارد

In the time of your face, our heart has no need of the meadow,
for like the cypress its foot is bound, and like the tulip it bears a brand.

Our head does not bow to the bow of anyone's eyebrow,
for the heart of those who sit in corners is free of the world.

I am vexed with the violet for talking of her tress;
see the cheap dark thing, what it has in its head!

Walk in the meadow and look at the throne of the rose, where the tulip
is like the king's companion, holding a goblet in its hand.

The night is dark and the desert wide; where can one arrive,
unless the candle of your face holds a lamp to my road?

It is fitting that the candle of dawn and I should weep together,
for we have burned, and our idol is unconcerned with us.

It is fitting that I weep over this meadow like the cloud of winter;
see how the crow holds the nightingale's nest of joy.

The suffering heart of Hafez has a mind for the lesson of love,
for it has no thought of sightseeing and no desire for the garden.