Cypress and Tulip and sweet Eglantine,Of these the tale from lip to lip is sent;Washed by three cups, oh Saki, of thy wine,My song shall turn upon this argument.Spring, bride of all the meadows, rises up,Clothed in her ripest beauty: fill the cup!Of Spring’s handmaidens runs this song of mine.The sugar-loving birds of distant Ind,Except a Persian sweetmeat that was broughtTo fair Bengal, have found nought to their mind.See how my song, that in one night was wrought,Defies the limits set by space and time!O’er plains and mountain-tops my fearless rhyme,Child of a night, its year-long road shall find.And thou whose sense is dimmed with piety,Thou too shalt learn the magic of her eyes;Forth comes the caravan of sorceryWhen from those gates the blue-veined curtains rise.And when she walks the flowery meadows through,Upon the jasmine’s shamèd cheek the dewGathers like sweat, she is so fair to see!Ah, swerve not from the path of righteousnessThough the world lure thee! like a wrinkled crone,Hiding beneath her robe lasciviousness,She plunders them that pause and heed her moan.From Sinai Moses brings thee wealth untold;Bow not thine head before the calf of goldLike Samir, following after wickedness.From the Shah’s garden blows the wind of Spring,The tulip in her lifted chalice bearsA dewy wine of Heaven’s minist’ring;Until Ghiyasuddin, the Sultan, hears,Sing, Hafiz, of thy longing for his face.The breezes whispering round thy dwelling-placeShall carry thy lament unto the King.
Cypress and Tulip and sweet Eglantine,Of these the tale from lip to lip is sent;Washed by three cups, oh Saki, of thy wine,My song shall turn upon this argument.Spring, bride of all the meadows, rises up,Clothed in her ripest beauty: fill the cup!Of Spring’s handmaidens runs this song of mine.The sugar-loving birds of distant Ind,Except a Persian sweetmeat that was broughtTo fair Bengal, have found nought to their mind.See how my song, that in one night was wrought,Defies the limits set by space and time!O’er plains and mountain-tops my fearless rhyme,Child of a night, its year-long road shall find.And thou whose sense is dimmed with piety,Thou too shalt learn the magic of her eyes;Forth comes the caravan of sorceryWhen from those gates the blue-veined curtains rise.And when she walks the flowery meadows through,Upon the jasmine’s shamèd cheek the dewGathers like sweat, she is so fair to see!Ah, swerve not from the path of righteousnessThough the world lure thee! like a wrinkled crone,Hiding beneath her robe lasciviousness,She plunders them that pause and heed her moan.From Sinai Moses brings thee wealth untold;Bow not thine head before the calf of goldLike Samir, following after wickedness.From the Shah’s garden blows the wind of Spring,The tulip in her lifted chalice bearsA dewy wine of Heaven’s minist’ring;Until Ghiyasuddin, the Sultan, hears,Sing, Hafiz, of thy longing for his face.The breezes whispering round thy dwelling-placeShall carry thy lament unto the King.
Cypress and Tulip and sweet Eglantine,Of these the tale from lip to lip is sent;Washed by three cups, oh Saki, of thy wine,My song shall turn upon this argument.Spring, bride of all the meadows, rises up,Clothed in her ripest beauty: fill the cup!Of Spring’s handmaidens runs this song of mine.
Cypress and Tulip and sweet Eglantine,
Of these the tale from lip to lip is sent;
Washed by three cups, oh Saki, of thy wine,
My song shall turn upon this argument.
Spring, bride of all the meadows, rises up,
Clothed in her ripest beauty: fill the cup!
Of Spring’s handmaidens runs this song of mine.
The sugar-loving birds of distant Ind,Except a Persian sweetmeat that was broughtTo fair Bengal, have found nought to their mind.See how my song, that in one night was wrought,Defies the limits set by space and time!O’er plains and mountain-tops my fearless rhyme,Child of a night, its year-long road shall find.
The sugar-loving birds of distant Ind,
Except a Persian sweetmeat that was brought
To fair Bengal, have found nought to their mind.
See how my song, that in one night was wrought,
Defies the limits set by space and time!
O’er plains and mountain-tops my fearless rhyme,
Child of a night, its year-long road shall find.
And thou whose sense is dimmed with piety,Thou too shalt learn the magic of her eyes;Forth comes the caravan of sorceryWhen from those gates the blue-veined curtains rise.And when she walks the flowery meadows through,Upon the jasmine’s shamèd cheek the dewGathers like sweat, she is so fair to see!
And thou whose sense is dimmed with piety,
Thou too shalt learn the magic of her eyes;
Forth comes the caravan of sorcery
When from those gates the blue-veined curtains rise.
And when she walks the flowery meadows through,
Upon the jasmine’s shamèd cheek the dew
Gathers like sweat, she is so fair to see!
Ah, swerve not from the path of righteousnessThough the world lure thee! like a wrinkled crone,Hiding beneath her robe lasciviousness,She plunders them that pause and heed her moan.From Sinai Moses brings thee wealth untold;Bow not thine head before the calf of goldLike Samir, following after wickedness.
Ah, swerve not from the path of righteousness
Though the world lure thee! like a wrinkled crone,
Hiding beneath her robe lasciviousness,
She plunders them that pause and heed her moan.
From Sinai Moses brings thee wealth untold;
Bow not thine head before the calf of gold
Like Samir, following after wickedness.
From the Shah’s garden blows the wind of Spring,The tulip in her lifted chalice bearsA dewy wine of Heaven’s minist’ring;Until Ghiyasuddin, the Sultan, hears,Sing, Hafiz, of thy longing for his face.The breezes whispering round thy dwelling-placeShall carry thy lament unto the King.
From the Shah’s garden blows the wind of Spring,
The tulip in her lifted chalice bears
A dewy wine of Heaven’s minist’ring;
Until Ghiyasuddin, the Sultan, hears,
Sing, Hafiz, of thy longing for his face.
The breezes whispering round thy dwelling-place
Shall carry thy lament unto the King.
The margin of a stream, the willow’s shade,A mind inclined to song, a mistress sweet,A Cup-bearer whose cheek outshines the rose,A friend upon whose heart thy heart is laid:Oh Happy-starred! let not thine hours fleetUnvalued; may each minute as it goesLay tribute of enjoyment at thy feet,That thou may’st live and know thy life is sweet.Let every one upon whose heart desireFor a fair face lies like a burden sore,That all his hopes may reach their goal unchecked,Throw branches of wild rue upon his fire.My soul is like a bride, with a rich storeOf maiden thoughts and jewelled fancies decked,And in Time’s gallery I yet may meetSome picture meant for me, some image sweet.Give thanks for nights spent in good company,And take the gifts a tranquil mind may bring;No heart is dark when the kind moon doth shine,And grass-grown river-banks are fair to see.The Saki’s radiant eyes, God favouring,Are like a wine-cup brimming o’er with wine,And him my drunken sense goes out to greet,For e’en the pain he leaves behind is sweet.Hafiz, thy life has sped untouched by care,With me towards the tavern turn thy feet!The fairest robbers thou’lt encounter there,And they will teach thee what to learn is sweet.
The margin of a stream, the willow’s shade,A mind inclined to song, a mistress sweet,A Cup-bearer whose cheek outshines the rose,A friend upon whose heart thy heart is laid:Oh Happy-starred! let not thine hours fleetUnvalued; may each minute as it goesLay tribute of enjoyment at thy feet,That thou may’st live and know thy life is sweet.Let every one upon whose heart desireFor a fair face lies like a burden sore,That all his hopes may reach their goal unchecked,Throw branches of wild rue upon his fire.My soul is like a bride, with a rich storeOf maiden thoughts and jewelled fancies decked,And in Time’s gallery I yet may meetSome picture meant for me, some image sweet.Give thanks for nights spent in good company,And take the gifts a tranquil mind may bring;No heart is dark when the kind moon doth shine,And grass-grown river-banks are fair to see.The Saki’s radiant eyes, God favouring,Are like a wine-cup brimming o’er with wine,And him my drunken sense goes out to greet,For e’en the pain he leaves behind is sweet.Hafiz, thy life has sped untouched by care,With me towards the tavern turn thy feet!The fairest robbers thou’lt encounter there,And they will teach thee what to learn is sweet.
The margin of a stream, the willow’s shade,A mind inclined to song, a mistress sweet,A Cup-bearer whose cheek outshines the rose,A friend upon whose heart thy heart is laid:Oh Happy-starred! let not thine hours fleetUnvalued; may each minute as it goesLay tribute of enjoyment at thy feet,That thou may’st live and know thy life is sweet.
The margin of a stream, the willow’s shade,
A mind inclined to song, a mistress sweet,
A Cup-bearer whose cheek outshines the rose,
A friend upon whose heart thy heart is laid:
Oh Happy-starred! let not thine hours fleet
Unvalued; may each minute as it goes
Lay tribute of enjoyment at thy feet,
That thou may’st live and know thy life is sweet.
Let every one upon whose heart desireFor a fair face lies like a burden sore,That all his hopes may reach their goal unchecked,Throw branches of wild rue upon his fire.My soul is like a bride, with a rich storeOf maiden thoughts and jewelled fancies decked,And in Time’s gallery I yet may meetSome picture meant for me, some image sweet.
Let every one upon whose heart desire
For a fair face lies like a burden sore,
That all his hopes may reach their goal unchecked,
Throw branches of wild rue upon his fire.
My soul is like a bride, with a rich store
Of maiden thoughts and jewelled fancies decked,
And in Time’s gallery I yet may meet
Some picture meant for me, some image sweet.
Give thanks for nights spent in good company,And take the gifts a tranquil mind may bring;No heart is dark when the kind moon doth shine,And grass-grown river-banks are fair to see.The Saki’s radiant eyes, God favouring,Are like a wine-cup brimming o’er with wine,And him my drunken sense goes out to greet,For e’en the pain he leaves behind is sweet.
Give thanks for nights spent in good company,
And take the gifts a tranquil mind may bring;
No heart is dark when the kind moon doth shine,
And grass-grown river-banks are fair to see.
The Saki’s radiant eyes, God favouring,
Are like a wine-cup brimming o’er with wine,
And him my drunken sense goes out to greet,
For e’en the pain he leaves behind is sweet.
Hafiz, thy life has sped untouched by care,With me towards the tavern turn thy feet!The fairest robbers thou’lt encounter there,And they will teach thee what to learn is sweet.
Hafiz, thy life has sped untouched by care,
With me towards the tavern turn thy feet!
The fairest robbers thou’lt encounter there,
And they will teach thee what to learn is sweet.
The days of Spring are here! the eglantine,The rose, the tulip from the dust have risen—And thou, why liest thou beneath the dust?Like the full clouds of Spring, these eyes of mineShall scatter tears upon the grave thy prison,Till thou too from the earth thine head shalt thrust.
The days of Spring are here! the eglantine,The rose, the tulip from the dust have risen—And thou, why liest thou beneath the dust?Like the full clouds of Spring, these eyes of mineShall scatter tears upon the grave thy prison,Till thou too from the earth thine head shalt thrust.
The days of Spring are here! the eglantine,The rose, the tulip from the dust have risen—And thou, why liest thou beneath the dust?Like the full clouds of Spring, these eyes of mineShall scatter tears upon the grave thy prison,Till thou too from the earth thine head shalt thrust.
The days of Spring are here! the eglantine,
The rose, the tulip from the dust have risen—
And thou, why liest thou beneath the dust?
Like the full clouds of Spring, these eyes of mine
Shall scatter tears upon the grave thy prison,
Till thou too from the earth thine head shalt thrust.
XLII
True love has vanished from every heart;What has befallen all lovers fair?When did the bonds of friendship part?—What has befallen the friends that were?Ah, why are the feet of Khizr lingering?—The waters of life are no longer clear,The purple rose has turned pale with fear,And what has befallen the wind of Spring?None now sayeth: “A love was mine,Loyal and wise, to dispel my care.”None remembers love’s right divine;What has befallen all lovers fair?In the midst of the field, to the players’ feet,The ball of God’s favour and mercy came,But none has leapt forth to renew the game—What has befallen the horsemen fleet?Roses have bloomed, yet no bird rejoiced,No vibrating throat has rung with the tale;What can have silenced the hundred-voiced?What has befallen the nightingale?Heaven’s music is hushed, and the planets rollIn silence; has Zohra broken her lute?There is none to press out the vine’s ripe fruit,And what has befallen the foaming bowl?A city where kings are but lovers crowned,A land from the dust of which friendship springs—Who has laid waste that enchanted ground?What has befallen the city of kings?Years have passed since a ruby was wonFrom the mine of manhood; they labour in vain,The fleet-footed wind and the quickening rain,And what has befallen the light of the sun?Hafiz, the secret of God’s dread taskNo man knoweth, in youth or primeOr in wisest age; of whom would’st thou ask:What has befallen the wheels of Time?
True love has vanished from every heart;What has befallen all lovers fair?When did the bonds of friendship part?—What has befallen the friends that were?Ah, why are the feet of Khizr lingering?—The waters of life are no longer clear,The purple rose has turned pale with fear,And what has befallen the wind of Spring?None now sayeth: “A love was mine,Loyal and wise, to dispel my care.”None remembers love’s right divine;What has befallen all lovers fair?In the midst of the field, to the players’ feet,The ball of God’s favour and mercy came,But none has leapt forth to renew the game—What has befallen the horsemen fleet?Roses have bloomed, yet no bird rejoiced,No vibrating throat has rung with the tale;What can have silenced the hundred-voiced?What has befallen the nightingale?Heaven’s music is hushed, and the planets rollIn silence; has Zohra broken her lute?There is none to press out the vine’s ripe fruit,And what has befallen the foaming bowl?A city where kings are but lovers crowned,A land from the dust of which friendship springs—Who has laid waste that enchanted ground?What has befallen the city of kings?Years have passed since a ruby was wonFrom the mine of manhood; they labour in vain,The fleet-footed wind and the quickening rain,And what has befallen the light of the sun?Hafiz, the secret of God’s dread taskNo man knoweth, in youth or primeOr in wisest age; of whom would’st thou ask:What has befallen the wheels of Time?
True love has vanished from every heart;What has befallen all lovers fair?When did the bonds of friendship part?—What has befallen the friends that were?Ah, why are the feet of Khizr lingering?—The waters of life are no longer clear,The purple rose has turned pale with fear,And what has befallen the wind of Spring?
True love has vanished from every heart;
What has befallen all lovers fair?
When did the bonds of friendship part?—
What has befallen the friends that were?
Ah, why are the feet of Khizr lingering?—
The waters of life are no longer clear,
The purple rose has turned pale with fear,
And what has befallen the wind of Spring?
None now sayeth: “A love was mine,Loyal and wise, to dispel my care.”None remembers love’s right divine;What has befallen all lovers fair?In the midst of the field, to the players’ feet,The ball of God’s favour and mercy came,But none has leapt forth to renew the game—What has befallen the horsemen fleet?
None now sayeth: “A love was mine,
Loyal and wise, to dispel my care.”
None remembers love’s right divine;
What has befallen all lovers fair?
In the midst of the field, to the players’ feet,
The ball of God’s favour and mercy came,
But none has leapt forth to renew the game—
What has befallen the horsemen fleet?
Roses have bloomed, yet no bird rejoiced,No vibrating throat has rung with the tale;What can have silenced the hundred-voiced?What has befallen the nightingale?Heaven’s music is hushed, and the planets rollIn silence; has Zohra broken her lute?There is none to press out the vine’s ripe fruit,And what has befallen the foaming bowl?
Roses have bloomed, yet no bird rejoiced,
No vibrating throat has rung with the tale;
What can have silenced the hundred-voiced?
What has befallen the nightingale?
Heaven’s music is hushed, and the planets roll
In silence; has Zohra broken her lute?
There is none to press out the vine’s ripe fruit,
And what has befallen the foaming bowl?
A city where kings are but lovers crowned,A land from the dust of which friendship springs—Who has laid waste that enchanted ground?What has befallen the city of kings?Years have passed since a ruby was wonFrom the mine of manhood; they labour in vain,The fleet-footed wind and the quickening rain,And what has befallen the light of the sun?
A city where kings are but lovers crowned,
A land from the dust of which friendship springs—
Who has laid waste that enchanted ground?
What has befallen the city of kings?
Years have passed since a ruby was won
From the mine of manhood; they labour in vain,
The fleet-footed wind and the quickening rain,
And what has befallen the light of the sun?
Hafiz, the secret of God’s dread taskNo man knoweth, in youth or primeOr in wisest age; of whom would’st thou ask:What has befallen the wheels of Time?
Hafiz, the secret of God’s dread task
No man knoweth, in youth or prime
Or in wisest age; of whom would’st thou ask:
What has befallen the wheels of Time?
Where are the tidings of union? that I may arise—Forth from the dust I will rise up to welcome thee!My soul, like a homing bird, yearning for Paradise,Shall arise and soar, from the snares of the world set free.When the voice of thy love shall call me to be thy slave,I shall rise to a greater far than the masteryOf life and the living, time and the mortal span:Pour down, oh Lord! from the clouds of thy guiding grace,The rain of a mercy that quickeneth on my grave,Before, like dust that the wind bears from place to place,I arise and flee beyond the knowledge of man.When to my grave thou turnest thy blessed feet,Wine and the lute thou shalt bring in thine hand to me,Thy voice shall ring through the folds of my winding-sheet,And I will arise and dance to thy minstrelsy.Though I be old, clasp me one night to thy breast,And I, when the dawn shall come to awaken me,With the flush of youth on my cheek from thy bosom will rise.Rise up! let mine eyes delight in thy stately grace!Thou art the goal to which all men’s endeavour has pressed,And thou the idol of Hafiz’ worship; thy faceFrom the world and life shall bid him come forth and arise!
Where are the tidings of union? that I may arise—Forth from the dust I will rise up to welcome thee!My soul, like a homing bird, yearning for Paradise,Shall arise and soar, from the snares of the world set free.When the voice of thy love shall call me to be thy slave,I shall rise to a greater far than the masteryOf life and the living, time and the mortal span:Pour down, oh Lord! from the clouds of thy guiding grace,The rain of a mercy that quickeneth on my grave,Before, like dust that the wind bears from place to place,I arise and flee beyond the knowledge of man.When to my grave thou turnest thy blessed feet,Wine and the lute thou shalt bring in thine hand to me,Thy voice shall ring through the folds of my winding-sheet,And I will arise and dance to thy minstrelsy.Though I be old, clasp me one night to thy breast,And I, when the dawn shall come to awaken me,With the flush of youth on my cheek from thy bosom will rise.Rise up! let mine eyes delight in thy stately grace!Thou art the goal to which all men’s endeavour has pressed,And thou the idol of Hafiz’ worship; thy faceFrom the world and life shall bid him come forth and arise!
Where are the tidings of union? that I may arise—Forth from the dust I will rise up to welcome thee!My soul, like a homing bird, yearning for Paradise,Shall arise and soar, from the snares of the world set free.When the voice of thy love shall call me to be thy slave,I shall rise to a greater far than the masteryOf life and the living, time and the mortal span:Pour down, oh Lord! from the clouds of thy guiding grace,The rain of a mercy that quickeneth on my grave,Before, like dust that the wind bears from place to place,I arise and flee beyond the knowledge of man.
Where are the tidings of union? that I may arise—
Forth from the dust I will rise up to welcome thee!
My soul, like a homing bird, yearning for Paradise,
Shall arise and soar, from the snares of the world set free.
When the voice of thy love shall call me to be thy slave,
I shall rise to a greater far than the mastery
Of life and the living, time and the mortal span:
Pour down, oh Lord! from the clouds of thy guiding grace,
The rain of a mercy that quickeneth on my grave,
Before, like dust that the wind bears from place to place,
I arise and flee beyond the knowledge of man.
When to my grave thou turnest thy blessed feet,Wine and the lute thou shalt bring in thine hand to me,Thy voice shall ring through the folds of my winding-sheet,And I will arise and dance to thy minstrelsy.Though I be old, clasp me one night to thy breast,And I, when the dawn shall come to awaken me,With the flush of youth on my cheek from thy bosom will rise.Rise up! let mine eyes delight in thy stately grace!Thou art the goal to which all men’s endeavour has pressed,And thou the idol of Hafiz’ worship; thy faceFrom the world and life shall bid him come forth and arise!
When to my grave thou turnest thy blessed feet,
Wine and the lute thou shalt bring in thine hand to me,
Thy voice shall ring through the folds of my winding-sheet,
And I will arise and dance to thy minstrelsy.
Though I be old, clasp me one night to thy breast,
And I, when the dawn shall come to awaken me,
With the flush of youth on my cheek from thy bosom will rise.
Rise up! let mine eyes delight in thy stately grace!
Thou art the goal to which all men’s endeavour has pressed,
And thou the idol of Hafiz’ worship; thy face
From the world and life shall bid him come forth and arise!