Ghazal 461: I wrote the story of my longing while my eyes were weeping

کتبت قصة شوقی و مدمعی باکی
بیا که بی تو به جان آمدم ز غمناکی

بسا که گفته‌ام از شوق با دو دیدهٔ خود
أیا منازل سلمی فأین سلماک؟

عجیب واقعه‌ای و غریب حادثه‌ای
أنا اصطبرت قتیلا و قاتلی شاکی

که را رسد که کند عیب دامن پاکت؟
که همچو قطره که بر برگ گل چکد پاکی

ز خاک پای تو داد آب، روی لاله و گل
چو کلک صنع رقم زد به آبی و خاکی

صبا عبیرفشان گشت ساقیا برخیز
و هات شمسة کرم مطیب زاکی

دع التکاسل تغنم فقد جری مثل
که زاد راهروان چستی است و چالاکی

اثر نماند ز من، بی شمایلت، آری
أری مآثر محیای من محیاک

ز وصف حسن تو حافظ چگونه نطق زند؟
که همچو صنع خدایی ورای ادراکی

I wrote the story of my longing while my eyes were weeping;
come, for without you grief has brought me to my last breath.

Many a time, in my longing, I have said to my two eyes:
"O dwelling places of Salma, where is your Salma now?"

It is a strange event and a rare occurrence:
I, the slain, was patient, and my slayer complains.

Who has the right to find fault with your pure skirt?
For you are as pure as the drop that falls on a rose petal.

From the dust of your foot the tulip and the rose were given their lustre,
when the pen of creation drew its design in water and earth.

The east wind is scattering ambergris; cupbearer, rise,
and bring the sun of the vine, fragrant and pure.

Leave idleness and you will gain, for the proverb runs:
the provision of wayfarers is quickness and nimbleness.

No trace of me remains without your form; truly,
I see the marks of my own life in your face.

How should Hafez speak in description of your beauty?
For, like the handiwork of God, you are beyond comprehension.