Ghazal 27: My beloved came into the Magian temple, a cup in hand

در دیر مغان آمد، یارم قدحی در دست
مست از می و میخواران از نرگس مستش مست

در نعل سمند او شکل مه نو پیدا
وز قد بلند او بالای صنوبر، پست

آخر به چه گویم هست از خود خبرم، چون نیست
وز بهر چه گویم نیست با وی نظرم، چون هست

شمع دل دمسازم، بنشست چو او برخاست
و افغان ز نظربازان، برخاست چو او بنشست

گر غالیه خوش بو شد، در گیسوی او پیچید
ور وسمه کمانکش گشت، در ابروی او پیوست

بازآی که بازآید عمر شدهٔ حافظ
هرچند که ناید باز، تیری که بشد از شست

My beloved came into the Magian temple, a cup in hand,
drunk with wine, and the drinkers drunk with her drunken narcissus eye.

In the shoe of her steed the shape of the new moon showed,
and beside her tall figure the height of the pine was low.

How can I say I have news of myself, when I have none?
And why should I say I have no eye for her, when I have?

The candle of her companions' hearts went out when she rose,
and a cry went up from those who gaze when she sat down.

If musk became fragrant, it had twined itself in her hair;
if indigo became an archer, it had joined her eyebrow.

Come back, that the life Hafez has lost may come back,
though the arrow that has left the thumb does not return.