From the Divan of Hafiz · 1

POEMS FROM THE DIVAN OF HAFIZ

I

Arise, oh Cup-bearer, rise! and bring To lips that are thirsting the bowl they praise, For it seemed that love was an easy thing, But my feet have fallen on difficult ways. I have prayed the wind o’er my heart to fling The fragrance of musk in her hair that sleeps— In the night of her hair—yet no fragrance stays The tears of my heart’s blood my sad heart weeps.

Hear the Tavern-keeper who counsels you: “With wine, with red wine your prayer carpet dye!” There was never a traveller like him but knew The ways of the road and the hostelry. Where shall I rest, when the still night through, Beyond thy gateway, oh Heart of my heart, The bells of the camels lament and cry: “Bind up thy burden again and depart!”

The waves run high, night is clouded with fears, And eddying whirlpools clash and roar; How shall my drowning voice strike their ears Whose light-freighted vessels have reached the shore?

I sought mine own; the unsparing years Have brought me mine own, a dishonoured name. What cloak shall cover my misery o’er When each jesting mouth has rehearsed my shame!

Oh Hafiz, seeking an end to strife, Hold fast in thy mind what the wise have writ: “If at last thou attain the desire of thy life, Cast the world aside, yea, abandon it!”

II

The bird of gardens sang unto the rose, New blown in the clear dawn: “Bow down thy head! As fair as thou within this garden close, Many have bloomed and died.” She laughed and said: “That I am born to fade grieves not my heart; But never was it a true lover’s part To vex with bitter words his love’s repose.”

The tavern step shall be thy hostelry, For Love’s diviner breath comes but to those That suppliant on the dusty threshold lie. And thou, if thou would’st drink the wine that flows From Life’s bejewelled goblet, ruby red, Upon thine eyelashes thine eyes shall thread A thousand tears for this temerity.

Last night when Irem’s magic garden slept, Stirring the hyacinth’s purple tresses curled, The wind of morning through the alleys stept. “Where is thy cup, the mirror of the world? Ah, where is Love, thou Throne of Djem?” I cried. The breezes knew not; but “Alas,” they sighed, “That happiness should sleep so long!” and wept.

Not on the lips of men Love’s secret lies, Remote and unrevealed his dwelling-place. Oh Saki, come! the idle laughter dies When thou the feast with heavenly wine dost grace. Patience and wisdom, Hafiz, in a sea Of thine own tears are drowned; thy misery They could not still nor hide from curious eyes.

III

Wind from the east, oh Lapwing of the day, I send thee to my Lady, though the way Is far to Saba, where I bid thee fly; Lest in the dust thy tameless wings should lie, Broken with grief, I send thee to thy nest, Fidelity.

Or far or near there is no halting-place Upon Love’s road—absent, I see thy face, And in thine ear my wind-blown greetings sound, North winds and east waft them where they are bound, Each morn and eve convoys of greeting fair I send to thee.

Unto mine eyes a stranger, thou that art A comrade ever-present to my heart, What whispered prayers and what full meed of praise I send to thee.

Lest Sorrow’s army waste thy heart’s domain, I send my life to bring thee peace again, Dear life thy ransom! From thy singers learn How one that longs for thee may weep and burn; Sonnets and broken words, sweet notes and songs I send to thee.

Give me the cup! a voice rings in mine ears Crying: “Bear patiently the bitter years! For all thine ills, I send thee heavenly grace. God the Creator mirrored in thy face Thine eyes shall see, God’s image in the glass I send to thee.

“Hafiz, thy praise alone my comrades sing; Hasten to us, thou that art sorrowing! A robe of honour and a harnessed steed I send to thee.”

IV

Sleep on thine eyes, bright as narcissus flowers, Falls not in vain! And not in vain thy hair’s soft radiance showers— Ah, not in vain!

Before the milk upon thy lips was dry, I said: “Lips where the salt of wit doth lie, Sweets shall be mingled with thy mockery, And not in vain!”

Thy mouth the fountain where Life’s waters flow, A dimpled well of tears is set below, And death lies near to life thy lovers know, But know in vain!

God send to thee great length of happy days! Lo, not for his own life thy servant prays; Love’s dart in thy bent brows the Archer lays, Nor shoots in vain.

Art thou with grief afflicted, with the smart Of absence, and is bitter toil thy part? Thy lamentations and thy tears, oh Heart, Are not in vain!

Last night the wind from out her village blew, And wandered all the garden alleys through, Oh rose, tearing thy bosom’s robe in two; ’Twas not in vain!

And Hafiz, though thy heart within thee dies, Hiding love’s agony from curious eyes, Ah, not in vain thy tears, not vain thy sighs, Not all in vain!

V

Oh Turkish maid of Shiraz! in thy hand If thou’lt take my heart, for the mole on thy cheek I would barter Bokhara and Samarkand. Bring, Cup-bearer, all that is left of thy wine! In the Garden of Paradise vainly thou’lt seek The lip of the fountain of Ruknabad, And the bowers of Mosalla where roses twine.

They have filled the city with blood and broil, Those soft-voiced Lulis for whom we sigh; As Turkish robbers fall on the spoil, They have robbed and plundered the peace of my heart. Dowered is my mistress, a beggar am I; What shall I bring her? a beautiful face Needs nor jewel nor mole nor the tiring-maid’s art.

Brave tales of singers and wine relate, The key to the Hidden ’twere vain to seek; No wisdom of ours has unlocked that gate, And locked to our wisdom it still shall be. But of Joseph’s beauty the lute shall speak; And the minstrel knows that Zuleika came forth, Love parting the curtains of modesty.

When thou spokest ill of thy servant ’twas well— God pardon thee! for thy words were sweet; Not unwelcomed the bitterest answer fell From lips where the ruby and sugar lay. But, fair Love, let good counsel direct thy feet; Far dearer to youth than dear life itself Are the warnings of one grown wise—and grey!

The song is sung and the pearl is strung; Come hither, oh Hafiz, and sing again! And the listening Heavens above thee hung Shall loose o’er thy verse the Pleiades’ chain.

VI

A flower-tinted cheek, the flowery close Of the fair earth, these are enough for me— Enough that in the meadow wanes and grows The shadow of a graceful cypress-tree. I am no lover of hypocrisy; Of all the treasures that the earth can boast, A brimming cup of wine I prize the most— This is enough for me!

To them that here renowned for virtue live, A heavenly palace is the meet reward; To me, the drunkard and the beggar, give The temple of the grape with red wine stored! Beside a river seat thee on the sward; It floweth past—so flows thy life away, So sweetly, swiftly, fleets our little day— Swift, but enough for me!

Look upon all the gold in the world’s mart, On all the tears the world hath shed in vain; Shall they not satisfy thy craving heart? I have enough of loss, enough of gain; I have my Love, what more can I obtain? Mine is the joy of her companionship Whose healing lip is laid upon my lip— This is enough for me!

I pray thee send not forth my naked soul From its poor house to seek for Paradise; Though heaven and earth before me God unroll, Back to thy village still my spirit flies. And, Hafiz, at the door of Kismet lies No just complaint—a mind like water clear, A song that swells and dies upon the ear, These are enough for thee!

VII

From the garden of Heaven a western breeze Blows through the leaves of my garden of earth; With a love like a huri I’ld take mine ease, And wine! bring me wine, the giver of mirth! To-day the beggar may boast him a king, His banqueting-hall is the ripening field, And his tent the shadow that soft clouds fling.

A tale of April the meadows unfold— Ah, foolish for future credit to slave, And to leave the cash of the present untold! Build a fort with wine where thy heart may brave The assault of the world; when thy fortress falls, The relentless victor shall knead from thy dust The bricks that repair its crumbling walls.

Trust not the word of that foe in the fight! Shall the lamp of the synagogue lend its flame To set thy monastic torches alight? Drunken am I, yet place not my name In the Book of Doom, nor pass judgment on it; Who knows what the secret finger of Fate Upon his own white forehead has writ!

And when the spirit of Hafiz has fled, Follow his bier with a tribute of sighs; Though the ocean of sin has closed o’er his head, He may find a place in God’s Paradise.

VIII

The rose has flushed red, the bud has burst, And drunk with joy is the nightingale— Hail, Sufis! lovers of wine, all hail! For wine is proclaimed to a world athirst. Like a rock your repentance seemed to you; Behold the marvel! of what avail Was your rock, for a goblet has cleft it in two!

Bring wine for the king and the slave at the gate! Alike for all is the banquet spread, And drunk and sober are warmed and fed. When the feast is done and the night grows late, And the second door of the tavern gapes wide, The low and the mighty must bow the head ’Neath the archway of Life, to meet what ... outside?

Except thy road through affliction pass, None may reach the halting-station of mirth; God’s treaty: Am I not Lord of the earth? Man sealed with a sigh: Ah yes, alas! Nor with Is nor Is Not let thy mind contend; Rest assured all perfection of mortal birth In the great Is Not at the last shall end.

For Assaf’s pomp, and the steeds of the wind, And the speech of birds, down the wind have fled, And he that was lord of them all is dead; Of his mastery nothing remains behind. Shoot not thy feathered arrow astray! A bow-shot’s length through the air it has sped, And then ... dropped down in the dusty way.

But to thee, oh Hafiz, to thee, oh Tongue That speaks through the mouth of the slender reed, What thanks to thee when thy verses speed From lip to lip, and the song thou hast sung?

IX

Oh Cup-bearer, set my glass afire With the light of wine! oh minstrel, sing: The world fulfilleth my heart’s desire! Reflected within the goblet’s ring I see the glow of my Love’s red cheek, And scant of wit, ye who fail to seek The pleasures that wine alone can bring!

Let not the blandishments be checked That slender beauties lavish on me, Until in the grace of the cypress decked, My Love shall come like a ruddy pine-tree He cannot perish whose heart doth hold The life love breathes—though my days are told, In the Book of the World lives my constancy.

But when the Day of Reckoning is here, I fancy little will be the gain That accrues to the Sheikh for his lawful cheer, Or to me for the draught forbidden I drain. The drunken eyes of my comrades shine, And I too, stretching my hand to the wine, On the neck of drunkenness loosen the rein.

Oh wind, if thou passest the garden close Of my heart’s dear master, carry for me The message I send to him, wind that blows! “Why hast thou thrust from thy memory My hapless name?” breathe low in his ear; “Knowest thou not that the day is near When nor thou nor any shall think on me?”

If with tears, oh Hafiz, thine eyes are wet, Scatter them round thee like grain, and snare The Bird of Joy when it comes to thy net. As the tulip shrinks from the cold night air, So shrank my heart and quailed in the shade; Oh Song-bird Fortune, the toils are laid, When shall thy bright wings lie pinioned there?

The heavens’ green sea and the bark therein, The slender bark of the crescent moon, Are lost in thy bounty’s radiant noon, Vizir and pilgrim, Kawameddin!

X

Singer, sweet Singer, fresh notes strew, Fresh and afresh and new and new! Heart-gladdening wine thy lips imbrue, Fresh and afresh and new and new!

Saki, thy radiant feet I hail; Flush with red wine the goblets pale, Flush our pale cheeks to drunken hue, Fresh and afresh and new and new!

Then with thy love to toy with thee, Rest thee, ah, rest! where none can see; Seek thy delight, for kisses sue, Fresh and afresh and new and new!

Here round thy life the vine is twined; Drink! for elsewhere what wine wilt find? Drink to her name, to hours that flew, Hours ever fresh and new and new!

She that has stolen my heart from me, How does she wield her empery? Paints and adorns and scents her too, Fresh and afresh and new and new!

Wind of the dawn that passest by, Swift to the street of my fairy hie, Whisper the tale of Hafiz true, Fresh and afresh and new and new!

XI

Mirth, Spring, to linger in a garden fair, What more has earth to give? All ye that wait, Where is the Cup-bearer, the flagon where? When pleasant hours slip from the hand of Fate, Reckon each hour as a certain gain; Who seeks to know the end of mortal care Shall question his experience in vain.

Thy fettered life hangs on a single thread— Some comfort for thy present ills devise, But those that time may bring thou shalt not dread. Waters of Life and Irem’s Paradise— What meaning do our dreams and pomp convey, Save that beside a mighty stream, wide-fed, We sit and sing of wine and go our way!

The modest and the merry shall be seen To boast their kinship with a single voice; There are no differences to choose between, Thou art but flattering thy soul with choice! Who knows the Curtain’s secret?... Heaven is mute! And yet with Him who holds the Curtain, e’en With Him, oh Braggart, thou would’st raise dispute!

Although His thrall shall miss the road and err, ’Tis but to teach him wisdom through distress, Else Pardon and Compassionate Mercy were But empty syllables and meaningless. The Zealot thirsts for draughts of Kausar’s wine, And Hafiz doth an earthly cup prefer— But what, between the two, is God’s design?

XII

Where is my ruined life, and where the fame Of noble deeds? Look on my long-drawn road, and whence it came, And where it leads!

Can drunkenness be linked to piety And good repute? Where is the preacher’s holy monody, Where is the lute?

From monkish cell and lying garb released, Oh heart of mine, Where is the Tavern fane, the Tavern priest, Where is the wine?

Past days of meeting, let the memory Of you be sweet! Where are those glances fled, and where for me Reproaches meet?

His friend’s bright face warms not the enemy When love is done— Where is the extinguished lamp that made night day, Where is the sun?

Balm to mine eyes the dust, my head I bow Upon thy stair. Where shall I go, where from thy presence? thou Art everywhere.

Look not upon the dimple of her chin, Danger lurks there! Where wilt thou hide, oh trembling heart, fleeing in Such mad haste—where?

To steadfastness and patience, friend, ask not If Hafiz keep— Patience and steadfastness I have forgot, And where is sleep?

XIII

Lady that hast my heart within thy hand, Thou heed’st me not; and if thou turn thine ear Unto the wise, thou shalt not understand— Behold the fault is thine, our words were clear. For all the tumult in my drunken brain Praise God! who trieth not His slave in vain; Nor this world nor the next shall make me fear!

My weary heart eternal silence keeps— I know not who has slipped into my heart; Though I am silent, one within me weeps. My soul shall rend the painted veil apart. Where art thou, Minstrel! touch thy saddest strings Till clothed in music such as sorrow sings, My mournful story from thy zither sweeps.

Lo, not at any time I lent mine ear To hearken to the glories of the earth; Only thy beauty to mine eyes was dear. Sleep has forsaken me, and from the birth Of night till day I weave bright dreams of thee; Drunk with a hundred nights of revelry, Where is the tavern that sets forth such cheer!

My heart, sad hermit, stains the cloister floor With drops of blood, the sweat of anguish dire; Ah, wash me clean, and o’er my body pour Love’s generous wine! the worshippers of fire Have bowed them down and magnified my name, For in my heart there burns a living flame, Transpiercing Death’s impenetrable door.

What instrument through last night’s silence rang? My life into his lay the minstrel wove, And filled my brain with the sweet song he sang. It was the proclamation of thy love That shook the strings of Life’s most secret lyre, And still my breast heaves with last night’s desire, For countless echoes from that music sprang.

And ever, since the time that Hafiz heard His Lady’s voice, as from a rocky hill Reverberates the softly spoken word, So echoes of desire his bosom fill.

XIV

The nightingale with drops of his heart’s blood Had nourished the red rose, then came a wind, And catching at the boughs in envious mood, A hundred thorns about his heart entwined. Like to the parrot crunching sugar, good Seemed the world to me who could not stay The wind of Death that swept my hopes away.

Light of mine eyes and harvest of my heart, And mine at least in changeless memory! Ah, when he found it easy to depart, He left the harder pilgrimage to me! Oh Camel-driver, though the cordage start, For God’s sake help me lift my fallen load, And Pity be my comrade of the road!

My face is seamed with dust, mine eyes are wet. Of dust and tears the turquoise firmament Kneadeth the bricks for joy’s abode; and yet ... Alas, and weeping yet I make lament! Because the moon her jealous glances set Upon the bow-bent eyebrows of my moon, He sought a lodging in the grave—too soon!

I had not castled, and the time is gone. What shall I play? Upon the chequered floor Of Night and Day, Death won the game—forlorn And careless now, Hafiz can lose no more.

XV

Return! that to a heart wounded full sore Valiance and strength may enter in; return! And Life shall pause at the deserted door, The cold dead body breathe again and burn. Oh come! and touch mine eyes, of thy sweet grace, For I am blind to all but to thy face. Open the gates and bid me see once more!

Like to a cruel Ethiopian band, Sorrow despoiled the kingdom of my heart— Return! glad Lord of Rome, and free the land; Before thine arms the foe shall break and part. See now, I hold a mirror to mine eyes, And nought but thy reflection therein lies; The glass speaks truth to them that understand.

Night is with child, hast thou not heard men say? “Night is with child! what will she bring to birth?” I sit and ask the stars when thou’rt away. Oh come! and when the nightingale of mirth Pipes in the Spring-awakened garden ground, In Hafiz’ heart shall ring a sweeter sound, Diviner nightingales attune their lay.

XVI

What is wrought in the forge of the living and life— All things are nought! Ho! fill me the bowl, For nought is the gear of the world and the strife! One passion has quickened the heart and the soul, The Beloved’s presence alone they have sought— Love at least exists; yet if Love were not, Heart and soul would sink to the common lot— All things are nought!

Like an empty cup is the fate of each, That each must fill from Life’s mighty flood; Nought thy toil, though to Paradise gate thou reach, If Another has filled up thy cup with blood; Neither shade from the sweet-fruited trees could be bought By thy praying—oh Cypress of Truth, dost not see That Sidreh and Tuba were nought, and to thee All then were nought!

The span of thy life is as five little days, Brief hours and swift in this halting-place; Rest softly, ah rest! while the Shadow delays, For Time’s self is nought and the dial’s face. On the lip of Oblivion we linger, and short Is the way from the Lip to the Mouth where we pass— While the moment is thine, fill, oh Saki, the glass Ere all is nought!

Consider the rose that breaks into flower, Neither repines though she fade and die— The powers of the world endure for an hour, But nought shall remain of their majesty. Be not too sure of your crown, you who thought That virtue was easy and recompense yours; From the monastery to the wine-tavern doors The way is nought!

What though I, too, have tasted the salt of my tears, Though I, too, have burnt in the fires of grief, Shall I cry aloud to unheeding ears? Mourn and be silent! nought brings relief. Thou, Hafiz, art praised for the songs thou hast wrought, But bearing a stained or an honoured name, The lovers of wine shall make light of thy fame— All things are nought!

XVII

Lay not reproach at the drunkard’s door Oh Fanatic, thou that art pure of soul; Not thine on the page of life to enrol The faults of others! Or less or more I have swerved from my path—keep thou to thine own! For every man when he reaches the goal Shall reap the harvest his hands have sown.

Leave me the hope of a former grace— Till the curtain is lifted none can tell Whether in Heaven or deepest Hell, Fair or vile, shall appear his face. Alike the drunk and the strict of fare For his mistress yearns—in the mosque Love doth dwell And the church, for his lodging is everywhere.

If without the house of devotion I stand, I am not the first to throw wide the door; My father opened it long before, The eternal Paradise slipped from his hand. All you that misconstrue my words’ intent, I lie on the bricks of the tavern floor, And a brick shall serve me for argument.

Heaven’s garden future treasures may yield— Ah, make the most of earth’s treasury! The flickering shade of the willow-tree, And the grass-grown lip of the fruitful field. Trust not in deeds—the Eternal Day Shall reveal the Creator’s sentence on thee; But till then, what His finger has writ, who can say.

Bring the cup in thine hand to the Judgment-seat; Thou shalt rise, oh Hafiz, to Heaven’s gate From the tavern where thou hast tarried late. And if thou hast worshipped wine, thou shalt meet The reward that the Faithful attain; If such thy life, then fear not thy fate, Thou shalt not have lived and worshipped in vain!

XVIII

Slaves of thy shining eyes are even those That diadems of might and empire bear; Drunk with the wine that from thy red lip flows, Are they that e’en the grape’s delight forswear. Drift, like the wind across a violet bed, Before thy many lovers, weeping low, And clad like violets in blue robes of woe, Who feel thy wind-blown hair and bow the head.

Thy messenger the breath of dawn, and mine A stream of tears, since lover and beloved Keep not their secret; through my verses shine, Though other lays my flower’s grace have proved And countless nightingales have sung thy praise. When veiled beneath thy curls thou passest, see, To right and leftward those that welcome thee Have bartered peace and rest on thee to gaze!

But thou that knowest God by heart, away! Wine-drunk, love-drunk, we inherit Paradise, His mercy is for sinners; hence and pray Where wine thy cheek red as red erghwan dyes, And leave the cell to faces sinister. Oh Khizr, whose happy feet bathed in life’s fount, Help one who toils afoot—the horsemen mount And hasten on their way; I scarce can stir.

Ah, loose me not! ah, set not Hafiz free From out the bondage of thy gleaming hair! Safe only those, safe, and at liberty, That fast enchained in thy linked ringlets are. But from the image of his dusty cheek Learn this from Hafiz: proudest heads shall bend, And dwellers on the threshold of a friend Be crownèd with the dust that crowns the meek.

XIX

What drunkenness is this that brings me hope— Who was the Cup-bearer, and whence the wine? That minstrel singing with full voice divine, What lay was his? for ’mid the woven rope Of song, he brought word from my Friend to me Set to his melody.

The wind itself bore joy to Solomon; The Lapwing flew from Sheba’s garden close, Bringing good tidings of its queen and rose. Take thou the cup and go where meadows span The plain, whither the bird with tuneful throat Has brought Spring’s sweeter note.

Welcome, oh rose, and full-blown eglantine! The violets their scented gladness fling, Jasmin breathes purity—art sorrowing Like an unopened bud, oh heart of mine? The wind of dawn that sets closed blossoms free Brings its warm airs to thee.

Saki, thy kiss shall still my bitter cry! Lift up your grief-bowed heads, all ye that weep, The Healer brings joy’s wine-cup—oh, drink deep! Disciple of the Tavern-priest am I; The pious Sheikh may promise future bliss, He brings me where joy is.

The greedy glances of a Tartar horde To me seemed kind—my foeman spared me not Though one poor robe was all that I had got. But Heaven served Hafiz, as a slave his lord, And when he fled through regions desolate, Heaven brought him to thy gate.

XX

From out the street of So-and-So, Oh wind, bring perfumes sweet to me! For I am sick and pale with woe; Oh bring me rest from misery! The dust that lies before her door, Love’s long desired elixir, pour Upon this wasted heart of mine— Bring me a promise and a sign!

Between the ambush of mine eyes And my heart’s fort there’s enmity— Her eye-brow’s bow, the dart that flies, Beneath her lashes, bring to me! Sorrow and absence, glances cold, Before my time have made me old; A wine-cup from the hand of Youth Bring me for pity and for ruth!

Then shall all unbelievers taste A draught or two of that same wine; But if they like it not, oh haste! And let joy’s flowing cup be mine. Cup-bearer, seize to-day, nor wait Until to-morrow!—or from Fate Some passport to felicity, Some written surety bring to me!

My heart threw back the veil of woe, Consoled by Hafiz’ melody: From out the street of So-and-So, Oh wind, bring perfumes sweet to me!

XXI

Not all the sum of earthly happiness Is worth the bowed head of a moment’s pain, And if I sell for wine my dervish dress, Worth more than what I sell is what I gain! Land where my Lady dwells, thou holdest me Enchained; else Fars were but a barren soil, Not worth the journey over land and sea, Not worth the toil!

Down in the quarter where they sell red wine, My holy carpet scarce would fetch a cup— How brave a pledge of piety is mine, Which is not worth a goblet foaming up! Mine enemy heaped scorn on me and said: “Forth from the tavern gate!” Why am I thrust From off the threshold? is my fallen head Not worth the dust?

Wash white that travel-stained sad robe of thine! Where word and deed alike one colour bear, The grape’s fair purple garment shall outshine Thy many-coloured rags and tattered gear. Full easy seemed the sorrow of the sea Lightened by hope of gain—hope flew too fast! A hundred pearls were poor indemnity, Not worth the blast.

The Sultan’s crown, with priceless jewels set, Encircles fear of death and constant dread; It is a head-dress much desired—and yet Art sure ’tis worth the danger to the head? ’Twere best for thee to hide thy face from those That long for thee; the Conqueror’s reward Is never worth the army’s long-drawn woes, Worth fire and sword.

Ah, seek the treasure of a mind at rest And store it in the treasury of Ease; Not worth a loyal heart, a tranquil breast, Were all the riches of thy lands and seas! Ah, scorn, like Hafiz, the delights of earth, Ask not one grain of favour from the base, Two hundred sacks of jewels were not worth Thy soul’s disgrace!

XXII

The rose is not fair without the beloved’s face, Nor merry the Spring without the sweet laughter of wine; The path through the fields, and winds from a flower-strewn place, Without her bright cheek, which glows like a tulip fine, Nor winds softly blowing, fields deep in corn, are fair.

And lips like to sugar, grace like a flower that sways, Are nought without kisses many and dalliance sweet; If thousands of voices sang not the rose’s praise, The joy of the cypress her opening bud to greet, Nor dancing of boughs nor blossoming rose were fair.

Though limned by most skilful fingers, no pictures please Unless the beloved’s image is drawn therein; The garden and flowers, and hair flowing loose on the breeze, Unless to my Lady’s side I may strive and win, Nor garden, nor flowers, nor loose flying curls are fair.

Hast seen at a marriage-feast, when the mirth runs high, The revellers scatter gold with a careless hand? The gold of thy heart, oh Hafiz, despised doth lie, Not worthy thy love to be cast by a drunken band At the feet of her who is fairer than all that’s fair.

XXIII

My lady, that did change this house of mine Into a heaven when that she dwelt therein, From head to foot an angel’s grace divine Enwrapped her; pure she was, spotless of sin; Fair as the moon her countenance, and wise; Lords of the kind and tender glance, her eyes With an abounding loveliness did shine.

Then said my heart: Here will I take my rest! This city breathes her love in every part. But to a distant bourne was she addressed, Alas! he knew it not, alas, poor heart! The influence of some cold malignant star Has loosed my hand that held her, lone and far She journeyeth that lay upon my breast.

Not only did she lift my bosom’s veil, Reveal its inmost secret, but her grace Drew back the curtain from Heaven’s mansions pale, And gave her there an eternal dwelling-place. The flower-strewn river lip and meadows fair, The rose herself but fleeting treasures were, Regret and Winter follow in their trail.

Dear were the days which perished with my friend— Ah, what is left of life, now she is dead, All wisdomless and profitless I spend! The nightingale his own life’s blood doth shed, When, to the kisses of the wind, the morn Unveils the rose’s splendour—with his torn And jealous breast he dyes her petals red.

Yet pardon her, oh Heart, for poor wert thou, A humble dervish on the dusty way; Crowned with the crown of empire was her brow, And in the realms of beauty she bore sway. But all the joy that Hafiz’ hand might hold, Lay in the beads that morn and eve he told, Worn with God’s praise; and see! he holds it now.

XXIV

Not one is filled with madness like to mine In all the taverns! my soiled robe lies here, There my neglected book, both pledged for wine. With dust my heart is thick, that should be clear, A glass to mirror forth the Great King’s face; One ray of light from out Thy dwelling-place To pierce my night, oh God! and draw me near.

From out mine eyes unto my garment’s hem A river flows; perchance my cypress-tree Beside that stream may rear her lofty stem, Watering her roots with tears. Ah, bring to me The wine vessel! since my Love’s cheek is hid, A flood of grief comes from my heart unbid, And turns mine eyes into a bitter sea!

Nay, by the hand that sells me wine, I vow No more the brimming cup shall touch my lips, Until my mistress with her radiant brow Adorns my feast—until Love’s secret slips From her, as from the candle’s tongue of flame, Though I, the singèd moth, for very shame, Dare not extol Love’s light without eclipse.

Red wine I worship, and I worship her!— Speak not to me of anything beside, For nought but these on earth or heaven I care. What though the proud narcissus flowers defied Thy shining eyes to prove themselves more bright, Yet heed them not! those that are clear of sight Follow not them to whom all light’s denied.

Before the tavern door a Christian sang To sound of pipe and drum, what time the earth Awaited the white dawn, and gaily rang Upon mine ear those harbingers of mirth: “If the True Faith be such as thou dost say, Alas! my Hafiz, that this sweet To-day Should bring unknown To-morrow to the birth!”

XXV

The days of absence and the bitter nights Of separation, all are at an end! Where is the influence of the star that blights My hope? The omen answers: At an end! Autumn’s abundance, creeping Autumn’s mirth, Are ended and forgot when o’er the earth The wind of Spring with soft warm feet doth wend.

The Day of Hope, hid beneath Sorrow’s veil, Has shown its face—ah, cry that all may hear: Come forth! the powers of night no more prevail! Praise be to God, now that the rose is near With long-desired and flaming coronet, The cruel stinging thorns all men forget, The wind of Winter ends its proud career.

The long confusion of the nights that were, Anguish that dwelt within my heart, is o’er; ’Neath the protection of my lady’s hair Grief nor disquiet come to me no more. What though her curls wrought all my misery, My lady’s gracious face can comfort me, And at the end give what I sorrow for.

Light-hearted to the tavern let me go, Where laughs the pipe, the merry cymbals kiss; Under the history of all my woe, My mistress sets her hand and writes: Finis. Oh, linger not, nor trust the inconstant days That promised: Where thou art thy lady stays— The tale of separation ends with this!

Joy’s certain path, oh Saki, thou hast shown— Long may thy cup be full, thy days be fair! Trouble and sickness from my breast have flown, Order and health thy wisdom marshals there. Not one that numbered Hafiz’ name among The great—unnumbered were his tears, unsung; Praise him that sets an end to endless care!

XXVI

The secret draught of wine and love repressed Are joys foundationless—then come whate’er May come, slave to the grape I stand confessed! Unloose, oh friend, the knot of thy heart’s care, Despite the warning that the Heavens reveal! For all his thought, never astronomer That loosed the knot of Fate those Heavens conceal!

Not all the changes that thy days unfold Shall rouse thy wonder; Time’s revolving sphere Over a thousand lives like thine has rolled. That cup within thy fingers, dost not hear The voices of dead kings speak through the clay? Kobad, Bahman, Djemshid, their dust is here, “Gently upon me set thy lips!” they say.

What man can tell where Kaus and Kai have gone? Who knows where even now the restless wind Scatters the dust of Djem’s imperial throne? And where the tulip, following close behind The feet of Spring, her scarlet chalice rears, There Ferhad for the love of Shirin pined, Dyeing the desert red with his heart’s tears.

Bring, bring the cup! drink we while yet we may To our soul’s ruin the forbidden draught; Perhaps a treasure-trove is hid away Among those ruins where the wine has laughed!— Perhaps the tulip knows the fickleness Of Fortune’s smile, for on her stalk’s green shaft She bears a wine-cup through the wilderness.

The murmuring stream of Ruknabad, the breeze That blows from out Mosalla’s fair pleasaunce, Summon me back when I would seek heart’s ease, Travelling afar; what though Love’s countenance Be turned full harsh and sorrowful on me, I care not so that Time’s unfriendly glance Still from my Lady’s beauty turned be.

Like Hafiz, drain the goblet cheerfully While minstrels touch the lute and sweetly sing, For all that makes thy heart rejoice in thee Hangs of Life’s single, slender, silken string.

XXVII

My friend has fled! alas, my friend has fled, And left me nought but tears and pain behind! Like smoke above a flame caught by the wind, So rose she from my breast and forth she sped. Drunk with desire, I seized Love’s cup divine, But she that held it poured the bitter wine Of Separation into it and fled.

The hunter she, and I the helpless prey; Wounded and sick, round me her toils she drew, My heart into a sea of sorrow threw, Bound up her camel loads and fled away. Fain had I laid an ambush for her soul, She saw and vanished, and the timid foal, Good Fortune, slipped the rein and would not stay.

My heart was all too narrow for my woe, And tears of blood my weeping eyes have shed, A crimson stream across the desert sped, Rising from out my sad heart’s overflow. She knew not what Love’s meanest slave can tell: “’Tis sweet to serve!” but threw me a Farewell, Kissing my threshold, turned, and cried “I go!”

In the clear dawn, before the east was red, Before the rose had torn her veil in two, A nightingale through Hafiz’ garden flew, Stayed but to fill its song with tears, and fled.

XXVIII

Hast thou forgotten when thy stolen glance Was turned to me, when on my happy face Clearly thy love was writ, which doth enhance All happiness? or when my sore disgrace (Hast thou forgot?) drew from thine eyes reproof, And made thee hold thy sweet red lips aloof, Dowered, like Jesus’ breath, with healing grace?

Hast thou forgotten how the glorious Swift nights flew past, the cup of dawn brimmed high? My love and I alone, God favouring us! And when she like a waning moon did lie, And Sleep had drawn his coif about her brow, Hast thou forgot? Heaven’s crescent moon would bow The head, and in her service pace the sky!

Hast thou forgotten, when a sojourner Within the tavern gates and drunk with wine, I found Love’s passionate wisdom hidden there, Which in the mosque none even now divine? The goblet’s carbuncle (hast thou forgot?) Laughed out aloud, and speech flew hot And fast between thy ruby lips and mine!

Hast thou forgotten when thy cheek’s dear torch Lighted the beacon of desire in me, And when my heart, like foolish moths that scorch Their wings and yet return, turned all to thee? Within the banquet-hall of Good Repute (Hast thou forgot?) the wine’s self-pressed my suit, And filled the morn with drunken jollity!

Hast thou forgotten when thou laid’st aright The uncut gems of Hafiz’ inmost thought, And side by side thy sweet care strung the bright Array of verse on verse—hast thou forgot?

XXIX

From Canaan Joseph shall return, whose face A little time was hidden: weep no more— Oh, weep no more! in sorrow’s dwelling-place The roses yet shall spring from the bare floor! And heart bowed down beneath a secret pain— Oh stricken heart! joy shall return again, Peace to the love-tossed brain—oh, weep no more!

Oh, weep no more! for once again Life’s Spring Shall throne her in the meadows green, and o’er Her head the minstrel of the night shall fling A canopy of rose leaves, score on score. The secret of the world thou shalt not learn, And yet behind the veil Love’s fire may burn— Weep’st thou? let hope return and weep no more!

To-day may pass, to-morrow pass, before The turning wheel give me my heart’s desire; Heaven’s self shall change, and turn not evermore The universal wheel of Fate in ire. Oh Pilgrim nearing Mecca’s holy fane, The thorny maghilan wounds thee in vain, The desert blooms again—oh, weep no more!

What though the river of mortality Round the unstable house of Life doth roar, Weep not, oh heart, Noah shall pilot thee, And guide thine ark to the desirèd shore! The goal lies far, and perilous is thy road, Yet every path leads to that same abode Where thou shalt drop thy load—oh, weep no more!

Mine enemies have persecuted me, My Love has turned and fled from out my door— God counts our tears and knows our misery; Ah, weep not! He has heard thy weeping sore. And chained in poverty and plunged in night, Oh Hafiz, take thy Koran and recite Litanies infinite, and weep no more!

XXX

All hail, Shiraz, hail! oh site without peer! May God be the Watchman before thy gate, That the feet of Misfortune enter not here! Lest my Ruknabad be left desolate, A hundred times, “God forbid!” I pray; Its limpid stream where the shadows wait Like the fount of Khizr giveth life for aye.

’Twixt Jafrabad and Mosalla’s close Flies the north wind laden with ambergris— Oh, come to Shiraz when the north wind blows! There abideth the angel Gabriel’s peace With him who is lord of its treasures; the fame Of the sugar of Egypt shall fade and cease, For the breath of our beauties has put it to shame.

Oh wind that blows from the sun-rising, What news of the maid with the drunken eyes, What news of the lovely maid dost thou bring? Bid me not wake from my dream and arise, In dreams I have rested my head at her feet— When stillness unbroken around me lies, The vision of her makes my solitude sweet.

If for wine the Cup-bearer pour forth my blood, As the milk from a mother’s bosom flows, At his word let my heart yield its crimson flood. But, Hafiz, Hafiz! thou art of those For ever fearing lest absence be near; For the days when thou held’st the Beloved close, Why rise not thy thanks so that all may hear?

XXXI

The breath of Dawn’s musk-strewing wind shall blow, The ancient world shall turn to youth again, And other wines from out Spring’s chalice flow; Wine-red, the judas-tree shall set before The pure white jessamine a brimming cup, And wind flowers lift their scarlet chalice up For the star-pale narcissus to adore.

The long-drawn tyranny of grief shall pass, Parting shall end in meeting, the lament Of the sad bird that sang “Alas, alas!” Shall reach the rose in her red-curtained tent. Forth from the mosque! the tavern calls to me! Would’st hinder us? The preacher’s homily Is long, but life will soon be spent!

Ah, foolish Heart! the pleasures of To-day, If thou abandon, will To-morrow stand Thy surety for the gold thou’st thrown away? In Sha’aban the troops of Grief disband, And crown the hours with wine’s red coronet— The sun of merriment ere long will set, And meagre Ramazan is close at hand!

Dear is the rose—now, now her sweets proclaim, While yet the purple petals blush and blow; Hither adown the path of Spring she came, And by the path of Autumn she will go. Now, while we listen, Minstrel, tune thy lay! Thyself hast said: “The Present steals away; The Future comes, and bringing—what? Dost know?”

Summoned by thy melody did Hafiz rise Out of the darkness near thy lips to dwell; Back to the dark again his pathway lies— Sing out, sing clear, and singing cry: Farewell!

XXXII

Upon a branch of the straight cypress-tree Once more the patient nightingale doth rest: “Oh Rose!” he cries, “evil be turned from thee! I sing thee all men’s thanks; thou blossomest And hope springs up in every joyless heart— Let not the nightingale lament apart, Nor with thy proud thorns wound his faithful breast.”

I will not mourn my woeful banishment, He that has hungered for his lady’s face Shall, when she cometh, know a great content. The Zealot seeks a heavenly dwelling-place, Huris to welcome him in Paradise; Here at the tavern gate my heaven lies, I need no welcome but my lady’s grace.

Better to drink red wine than tears, say I, While the lute sings; and if one bid thee cease, “God is the merciful!” thou shalt reply. To some, life brings but joy and endless ease; Ah, let them laugh although the jest be vain! For me the source of pleasure lay in pain, And weeping for my lady I found peace.

Hafiz, why art thou ever telling o’er The tale of absence and of sorrow’s night? Knowest thou not that parting goes before All meeting, and from darkness comes the light!

XXXIII

The jewel of the secret treasury Is still the same as once it was; the seal Upon Love’s treasure casket, and the key, Are still what thieves can neither break nor steal; Still among lovers loyalty is found, And therefore faithful eyes still strew the ground With the same pearls that mine once strewed for thee.

Question the wandering winds and thou shalt know That from the dusk until the dawn doth break, My consolation is that still they blow The perfume of thy curls across my cheek. A dart from thy bent brows has wounded me— Ah, come! my heart still waiteth helplessly, Has waited ever, till thou heal its pain.

If seekers after rubies there were none, Still to the dark mines where the gems had lain Would pierce, as he was wont, the radiant sun, Setting the stones ablaze. Would’st hide the stain Of my heart’s blood? Blood-red the ruby glows (And whence it came my wounded bosom knows) Upon thy lips to show what thou hast done.

Let not thy curls waylay my pilgrim soul, As robbers use, and plunder me no more! Years join dead year, but thine extortionate rule Is still the same, merciless as before. Sing, Hafiz, sing again of eyes that weep! For still the fountain of our tears is deep As once it was, and still with tears is full.

XXXIV

Last night I dreamed that angels stood without The tavern door, and knocked in vain, and wept; They took the clay of Adam, and, methought, Moulded a cup therewith while all men slept. Oh dwellers in the halls of Chastity! You brought Love’s passionate red wine to me, Down to the dust I am, your bright feet stept.

For Heaven’s self was all too weak to bear The burden of His love God laid on it, He turned to seek a messenger elsewhere, And in the Book of Fate my name was writ. Between my Lord and me such concord lies As makes the Huris glad in Paradise, With songs of praise through the green glades they flit.

A hundred dreams of Fancy’s garnered store Assail me—Father Adam went astray Tempted by one poor grain of corn! Wherefore Absolve and pardon him that turns away Though the soft breath of Truth reaches his ears, For two-and-seventy jangling creeds he hears, And loud-voiced Fable calls him ceaselessly.

That, that is not the flame of Love’s true fire Which makes the torchlight shadows dance in rings, But where the radiance draws the moth’s desire And sends him forth with scorched and drooping wings. The heart of one who dwells retired shall break, Rememb’ring a black mole and a red cheek, And his life ebb, sapped at its secret springs.

Yet since the earliest time that man has sought To comb the locks of Speech, his goodly bride, Not one, like Hafiz, from the face of Thought Has torn the veil of Ignorance aside.

XXXV

Forget not when dear friend to friend returned, Forget not days gone by, forget them not! My mouth has tasted bitterness, and learned To drink the envenomed cup of mortal lot; Forget not when a sweeter draught was mine, Loud rose the songs of them that drank that wine— Forget them not!

Forget not loyal lovers long since dead, Though faith and loyalty should be forgot, Though the earth cover the enamoured head, And in the dust wisdom and passion rot. My friends have thrust me from their memory; Vainly a thousand thousand times I cry: Forget me not!

Weary I turn me to my bonds again. Once there were hands strong to deliver me, Forget not when they broke a poor slave’s chain! Though from mine eyes tears flow unceasingly, I think on them whose rose gardens are set Beside the Zindeh Rud, and I forget Life’s misery.

Sorrow has made her lair in my breast, And undisturbed she lies—forget them not That drove her forth like to a hunted beast! Hafiz, thou and thy tears shall be forgot, Lock fast the gates of thy sad heart! But those That held the key to thine unspoken woes— Forget them not!

XXXVI

Beloved, who has bid thee ask no more How fares my life? to play the enemy And ask not where he dwells that was thy friend? Thou art the breath of mercy passing o’er The whole wide world, and the offender I; Ah, let the rift my tears have channelled end, Question the past no more!

If thou would’st know the secret of Love’s fire, It shall be manifest unto thine eyes: Question the torch flame burning steadfastly, But ask no more the sweet wind’s wayward choir. Ask me of faith and love that never dies; Darius, Alexander’s sovereignty, I sing of these no more.

Ask not the monk to give thee Truth’s pure gold, He hides no riches ’neath his lying guise; And ask not him to teach thee alchemy Whose treasure-house is bare, his hearth-stone cold. Ask to what goal the wandering dervish hies, They knew not his desire who counselled thee: Question his rags no more!

And in their learned books thou’lt seek in vain The key to Love’s locked gateway; Heart grown wise In pain and sorrow, ask no remedy! But when the time of roses comes again, Take what it gives, oh Hafiz, ere it flies, And ask not why the hour has brought it thee, And wherefore ask no more!

XXXVII

Arise! and fill a golden goblet up Until the wine of pleasure overflow, Before into thy skull’s pale empty cup A grimmer Cup-bearer the dust shall throw. Yea, to the Vale of Silence we must come; Yet shall the flagon laugh and Heaven’s dome Thrill with an answering echo ere we go!

Thou knowest that the riches of this field Make no abiding, let the goblet’s fire Consume the fleeting harvest Earth may yield! Oh Cypress-tree! green home of Love’s sweet choir, When I unto the dust I am have passed, Forget thy former wantonness, and cast Thy shadow o’er the dust of my desire.

Flow, bitter tears, and wash me clean! for they Whose feet are set upon the road that lies ’Twixt Earth and Heaven: “Thou shalt be pure,” they say, “Before unto the pure thou lift thine eyes.” Seeing but himself, the Zealot sees but sin; Grief to the mirror of his soul let in, Oh Lord, and cloud it with the breath of sighs!