Ghazal 427: The candle has become the moth of the lamp of your face

چراغ روی تو را شمع گشت پروانه
مرا ز حال تو با حال خویش پروا، نه

خرد که قید مجانین عشق می‌فرمود
به بوی سنبل زلف تو گشت دیوانه

به بوی زلف تو گر جان به باد رفت‌، چه شد؟
هزار جان گرامی فدای جانانه

من‌ رمیده ز غیرت ز پا فتادم دوش
نگار خویش چو دیدم به دست بیگانه

چه نقش‌ها که برانگیختیم و سود نداشت
فسون ما بر او گشته است افسانه

بر آتش رخ زیبای او به جای سپند
به غیر خال سیاهش که دید به دانه؟

به مژده، جان به صبا داد شمع در نفسی
ز شمع روی تواش چون رسید پروانه

مرا به دور لب دوست هست پیمانی
که بر زبان نبرم جز حدیث پیمانه

حدیث مدرسه و خانقه مگوی که باز
فتاد در سر حافظ هوای میخانه

The candle has become the moth of the lamp of your face;
because of your state I have no care for my own.

Reason, which used to order the madmen of love to be chained,
went mad itself at the scent of the hyacinth of your tress.

If my life went to the wind for the scent of your tress, what of it?
A thousand dear lives be the ransom of the beloved.

Startled, I fell from my feet out of jealousy last night,
when I saw my own beloved in the hand of a stranger.

What devices we set in motion, and they were no use;
our spell upon him has turned into an idle tale.

On the fire of his lovely face, in place of rue seed,
who has seen any grain other than his black mole?

For the good news the candle gave its life to the east wind in one breath,
when the warrant reached it from the candle of your face.

In the season of the friend's lip I have made a pact
that I will bring to my tongue nothing but talk of the cup.

Do not speak of the school and the dervish lodge, for again
the desire for the tavern has come into the head of Hafez.