XXI

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, pourUpon this wasted heart of mine—Bring me a promise and a sign!Between the ambush of mine eyesAnd 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 YouthBring me for pity and for ruth!Then shall all unbelievers tasteA 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 waitUntil to-morrow!—or from FateSome 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!

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 eyesAnd 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 YouthBring me for pity and for ruth!

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 tasteA 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 waitUntil to-morrow!—or from FateSome passport to felicity,Some written surety bring to me!

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!

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!

Not all the sum of earthly happinessIs 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 meEnchained; 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 thrustFrom off the threshold? is my fallen headNot 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 outshineThy many-coloured rags and tattered gear.Full easy seemed the sorrow of the seaLightened 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 yetArt sure ’tis worth the danger to the head?’Twere best for thee to hide thy face from thoseThat long for thee; the Conqueror’s rewardIs never worth the army’s long-drawn woes,Worth fire and sword.Ah, seek the treasure of a mind at restAnd 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 worthThy soul’s disgrace!

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 thrustFrom off the threshold? is my fallen headNot worth the dust?

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 outshineThy many-coloured rags and tattered gear.Full easy seemed the sorrow of the seaLightened by hope of gain—hope flew too fast!A hundred pearls were poor indemnity,Not worth the blast.

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 yetArt sure ’tis worth the danger to the head?’Twere best for thee to hide thy face from thoseThat long for thee; the Conqueror’s rewardIs never worth the army’s long-drawn woes,Worth fire and sword.

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 restAnd 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 worthThy soul’s disgrace!

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!

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 pleaseUnless 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 bandAt the feet of her who is fairer than all that’s fair.

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.

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 pleaseUnless 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.

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 bandAt the feet of her who is fairer than all that’s 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.

My lady, that did change this house of mineInto a heaven when that she dwelt therein,From head to foot an angel’s grace divineEnwrapped her; pure she was, spotless of sin;Fair as the moon her countenance, and wise;Lords of the kind and tender glance, her eyesWith 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 starHas loosed my hand that held her, lone and farShe journeyeth that lay upon my breast.Not only did she lift my bosom’s veil,Reveal its inmost secret, but her graceDrew 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 mornUnveils the rose’s splendour—with his tornAnd 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.

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 starHas loosed my hand that held her, lone and farShe journeyeth that lay upon my breast.

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 graceDrew 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.

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 mornUnveils the rose’s splendour—with his tornAnd jealous breast he dyes her petals red.

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.

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.

Not one is filled with madness like to mineIn 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-placeTo pierce my night, oh God! and draw me near.From out mine eyes unto my garment’s hemA river flows; perchance my cypress-treeBeside that stream may rear her lofty stem,Watering her roots with tears. Ah, bring to meThe 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 vowNo more the brimming cup shall touch my lips,Until my mistress with her radiant browAdorns my feast—until Love’s secret slipsFrom 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 defiedThy shining eyes to prove themselves more bright,Yet heed them not! those that are clear of sightFollow not them to whom all light’s denied.Before the tavern door a Christian sangTo sound of pipe and drum, what time the earthAwaited the white dawn, and gaily rangUpon mine ear those harbingers of mirth:“If the True Faith be such as thou dost say,Alas! my Hafiz, that this sweet To-dayShould bring unknown To-morrow to the birth!”

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 hemA river flows; perchance my cypress-treeBeside that stream may rear her lofty stem,Watering her roots with tears. Ah, bring to meThe 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!

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 vowNo more the brimming cup shall touch my lips,Until my mistress with her radiant browAdorns my feast—until Love’s secret slipsFrom 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.

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 defiedThy shining eyes to prove themselves more bright,Yet heed them not! those that are clear of sightFollow not them to whom all light’s denied.

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 sangTo sound of pipe and drum, what time the earthAwaited the white dawn, and gaily rangUpon mine ear those harbingers of mirth:“If the True Faith be such as thou dost say,Alas! my Hafiz, that this sweet To-dayShould bring unknown To-morrow to the birth!”

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 nightsOf separation, all are at an end!Where is the influence of the star that blightsMy hope? The omen answers: At an end!Autumn’s abundance, creeping Autumn’s mirth,Are ended and forgot when o’er the earthThe 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 nearWith 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 hairGrief 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 daysThat 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 amongThe great—unnumbered were his tears, unsung;Praise him that sets an end to endless care!

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 nearWith long-desired and flaming coronet,The cruel stinging thorns all men forget,The wind of Winter ends its proud career.

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 hairGrief 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.

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 daysThat promised: Where thou art thy lady stays—The tale of separation ends with this!

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 amongThe great—unnumbered were his tears, unsung;Praise him that sets an end to endless care!

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!

The secret draught of wine and love repressedAre joys foundationless—then come whate’erMay 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 astronomerThat loosed the knot of Fate those Heavens conceal!Not all the changes that thy days unfoldShall rouse thy wonder; Time’s revolving sphereOver a thousand lives like thine has rolled.That cup within thy fingers, dost not hearThe 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 windScatters the dust of Djem’s imperial throne?And where the tulip, following close behindThe 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 mayTo our soul’s ruin the forbidden draught;Perhaps a treasure-trove is hid awayAmong those ruins where the wine has laughed!—Perhaps the tulip knows the ficklenessOf Fortune’s smile, for on her stalk’s green shaftShe bears a wine-cup through the wilderness.The murmuring stream of Ruknabad, the breezeThat blows from out Mosalla’s fair pleasaunce,Summon me back when I would seek heart’s ease,Travelling afar; what though Love’s countenanceBe turned full harsh and sorrowful on me,I care not so that Time’s unfriendly glanceStill from my Lady’s beauty turned be.Like Hafiz, drain the goblet cheerfullyWhile minstrels touch the lute and sweetly sing,For all that makes thy heart rejoice in theeHangs of Life’s single, slender, silken string.

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 unfoldShall rouse thy wonder; Time’s revolving sphereOver a thousand lives like thine has rolled.That cup within thy fingers, dost not hearThe voices of dead kings speak through the clay?Kobad, Bahman, Djemshid, their dust is here,“Gently upon me set thy lips!” they say.

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 windScatters the dust of Djem’s imperial throne?And where the tulip, following close behindThe feet of Spring, her scarlet chalice rears,There Ferhad for the love of Shirin pined,Dyeing the desert red with his heart’s tears.

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 mayTo our soul’s ruin the forbidden draught;Perhaps a treasure-trove is hid awayAmong those ruins where the wine has laughed!—Perhaps the tulip knows the ficklenessOf Fortune’s smile, for on her stalk’s green shaftShe bears a wine-cup through the wilderness.

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 breezeThat blows from out Mosalla’s fair pleasaunce,Summon me back when I would seek heart’s ease,Travelling afar; what though Love’s countenanceBe turned full harsh and sorrowful on me,I care not so that Time’s unfriendly glanceStill from my Lady’s beauty turned be.

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 cheerfullyWhile minstrels touch the lute and sweetly sing,For all that makes thy heart rejoice in theeHangs of Life’s single, slender, silken string.

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 wineOf 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.

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.

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!”

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.

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 glanceWas turned to me, when on my happy faceClearly thy love was writ, which doth enhanceAll 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 gloriousSwift 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 bowThe head, and in her service pace the sky!Hast thou forgotten, when a sojournerWithin 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 hotAnd fast between thy ruby lips and mine!Hast thou forgotten when thy cheek’s dear torchLighted the beacon of desire in me,And when my heart, like foolish moths that scorchTheir 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 arightThe uncut gems of Hafiz’ inmost thought,And side by side thy sweet care strung the brightArray of verse on verse—hast thou forgot?

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 gloriousSwift 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 bowThe head, and in her service pace the sky!

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 sojournerWithin 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 hotAnd fast between thy ruby lips and mine!

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 torchLighted the beacon of desire in me,And when my heart, like foolish moths that scorchTheir 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 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 arightThe uncut gems of Hafiz’ inmost thought,And side by side thy sweet care strung the brightArray of verse on verse—hast thou forgot?

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?

From Canaan Joseph shall return, whose faceA little time was hidden: weep no more—Oh, weep no more! in sorrow’s dwelling-placeThe 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 SpringShall throne her in the meadows green, and o’erHer head the minstrel of the night shall flingA 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, beforeThe turning wheel give me my heart’s desire;Heaven’s self shall change, and turn not evermoreThe 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 mortalityRound 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 abodeWhere 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 reciteLitanies infinite, and weep no more!

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 SpringShall throne her in the meadows green, and o’erHer head the minstrel of the night shall flingA 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!

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, beforeThe turning wheel give me my heart’s desire;Heaven’s self shall change, and turn not evermoreThe 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!

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 mortalityRound 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 abodeWhere thou shalt drop thy load—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 reciteLitanies infinite, and 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!

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 waitLike the fount of Khizr giveth life for aye.’Twixt Jafrabad and Mosalla’s closeFlies the north wind laden with ambergris—Oh, come to Shiraz when the north wind blows!There abideth the angel Gabriel’s peaceWith him who is lord of its treasures; the fameOf 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 thoseFor 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?

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 closeFlies the north wind laden with ambergris—Oh, come to Shiraz when the north wind blows!There abideth the angel Gabriel’s peaceWith him who is lord of its treasures; the fameOf the sugar of Egypt shall fade and cease,For the breath of our beauties has put it to shame.

’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.

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 thoseFor 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?

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?

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 beforeThe pure white jessamine a brimming cup,And wind flowers lift their scarlet chalice upFor the star-pale narcissus to adore.The long-drawn tyranny of grief shall pass,Parting shall end in meeting, the lamentOf 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 homilyIs long, but life will soon be spent!Ah, foolish Heart! the pleasures of To-day,If thou abandon, will To-morrow standThy 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 riseOut of the darkness near thy lips to dwell;Back to the dark again his pathway lies—Sing out, sing clear, and singing cry: Farewell!

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 lamentOf 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 homilyIs long, but life will soon be spent!

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 standThy 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!

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?”

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 riseOut of the darkness near thy lips to dwell;Back to the dark again his pathway lies—Sing out, sing clear, and singing cry: Farewell!

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-treeOnce more the patient nightingale doth rest:“Oh Rose!” he cries, “evil be turned from thee!I sing thee all men’s thanks; thou blossomestAnd 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 faceShall, 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’erThe tale of absence and of sorrow’s night?Knowest thou not that parting goes beforeAll meeting, and from darkness comes the light!

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 faceShall, 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.

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.

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’erThe tale of absence and of sorrow’s night?Knowest thou not that parting goes beforeAll meeting, and from darkness comes the light!

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 treasuryIs still the same as once it was; the sealUpon 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 groundWith the same pearls that mine once strewed for thee.Question the wandering winds and thou shalt knowThat from the dusk until the dawn doth break,My consolation is that still they blowThe 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 lainWould pierce, as he was wont, the radiant sun,Setting the stones ablaze. Would’st hide the stainOf 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 ruleIs still the same, merciless as before.Sing, Hafiz, sing again of eyes that weep!For still the fountain of our tears is deepAs once it was, and still with tears is full.

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 knowThat from the dusk until the dawn doth break,My consolation is that still they blowThe 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.

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 lainWould pierce, as he was wont, the radiant sun,Setting the stones ablaze. Would’st hide the stainOf 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.

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 ruleIs still the same, merciless as before.Sing, Hafiz, sing again of eyes that weep!For still the fountain of our tears is deepAs once it was, and still with tears is full.

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 withoutThe 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 bearThe 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 liesAs makes the Huris glad in Paradise,With songs of praise through the green glades they flit.A hundred dreams of Fancy’s garnered storeAssail me—Father Adam went astrayTempted by one poor grain of corn! WhereforeAbsolve and pardon him that turns awayThough 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 fireWhich makes the torchlight shadows dance in rings,But where the radiance draws the moth’s desireAnd 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 soughtTo comb the locks of Speech, his goodly bride,Not one, like Hafiz, from the face of ThoughtHas torn the veil of Ignorance aside.

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 bearThe 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 liesAs makes the Huris glad in Paradise,With songs of praise through the green glades they flit.

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 storeAssail me—Father Adam went astrayTempted by one poor grain of corn! WhereforeAbsolve and pardon him that turns awayThough the soft breath of Truth reaches his ears,For two-and-seventy jangling creeds he hears,And loud-voiced Fable calls him ceaselessly.

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 fireWhich makes the torchlight shadows dance in rings,But where the radiance draws the moth’s desireAnd 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.

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 soughtTo comb the locks of Speech, his goodly bride,Not one, like Hafiz, from the face of ThoughtHas torn the veil of Ignorance aside.

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.

Forget not when dear friend to friend returned,Forget not days gone by, forget them not!My mouth has tasted bitterness, and learnedTo 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 setBeside the Zindeh Rud, and I forgetLife’s misery.Sorrow has made her lair in my breast,And undisturbed she lies—forget them notThat 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 thoseThat held the key to thine unspoken woes—Forget them not!

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!

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 setBeside the Zindeh Rud, and I forgetLife’s misery.

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 notThat 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 thoseThat held the key to thine unspoken woes—Forget them not!

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!

Beloved, who has bid thee ask no moreHow fares my life? to play the enemyAnd ask not where he dwells that was thy friend?Thou art the breath of mercy passing o’erThe 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 alchemyWhose 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 vainThe key to Love’s locked gateway; Heart grown wiseIn 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!

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.

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 alchemyWhose 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!

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 vainThe key to Love’s locked gateway; Heart grown wiseIn 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!

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!

Arise! and fill a golden goblet upUntil the wine of pleasure overflow,Before into thy skull’s pale empty cupA grimmer Cup-bearer the dust shall throw.Yea, to the Vale of Silence we must come;Yet shall the flagon laugh and Heaven’s domeThrill with an answering echo ere we go!Thou knowest that the riches of this fieldMake no abiding, let the goblet’s fireConsume 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 castThy shadow o’er the dust of my desire.Flow, bitter tears, and wash me clean! for theyWhose 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!No tainted eye shall gaze upon her face,No glass but that of an unsullied heartShall dare reflect my Lady’s perfect grace.Though like to snakes that from the herbage start,Thy curling locks have wounded me full sore,Thy red lips hold the power of the bezoar—Ah, touch and heal me where I lie apart!And when from her the wind blows perfume sweet,Tear, Hafiz, like the rose, thy robe in two,And cast thy rags beneath her flying feet,To deck the place thy mistress passes through.

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 fieldMake no abiding, let the goblet’s fireConsume 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 castThy shadow o’er the dust of my desire.

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 theyWhose 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!

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!

No tainted eye shall gaze upon her face,No glass but that of an unsullied heartShall dare reflect my Lady’s perfect grace.Though like to snakes that from the herbage start,Thy curling locks have wounded me full sore,Thy red lips hold the power of the bezoar—Ah, touch and heal me where I lie apart!

No tainted eye shall gaze upon her face,

No glass but that of an unsullied heart

Shall dare reflect my Lady’s perfect grace.

Though like to snakes that from the herbage start,

Thy curling locks have wounded me full sore,

Thy red lips hold the power of the bezoar—

Ah, touch and heal me where I lie apart!

And when from her the wind blows perfume sweet,Tear, Hafiz, like the rose, thy robe in two,And cast thy rags beneath her flying feet,To deck the place thy mistress passes through.

And when from her the wind blows perfume sweet,

Tear, Hafiz, like the rose, thy robe in two,

And cast thy rags beneath her flying feet,

To deck the place thy mistress passes through.

I cease not from desire till my desireIs satisfied; or let my mouth attainMy love’s red mouth, or let my soul expire,Sighed from those lips that sought her lips in vain.Others may find another love as fair;Upon her threshold I have laid my head,The dust shall cover me, still lying there,When from my body life and love have fled.My soul is on my lips ready to fly,But grief beats in my heart and will not cease,Because not once, not once before I die,Will her sweet lips give all my longing peace.My breath is narrowed down to one long sighFor a red mouth that burns my thoughts like fire;When will that mouth draw near and make replyTo one whose life is straitened with desire?When I am dead, open my grave and seeThe cloud of smoke that rises round thy feet:In my dead heart the fire still burns for thee;Yea, the smoke rises from my winding-sheet!Ah, come, Beloved! for the meadows waitThy coming, and the thorn bears flowers insteadOf thorns, the cypress fruit, and desolateBare winter from before thy steps has fled.Hoping within some garden ground to findA red rose soft and sweet as thy soft cheek,Through every meadow blows the western wind,Through every garden he is fain to seek.Reveal thy face! that the whole world may beBewildered by thy radiant loveliness;The cry of man and woman comes to thee,Open thy lips and comfort their distress!Each curling lock of thy luxuriant hairBreaks into barbèd hooks to catch my heart,My broken heart is wounded everywhereWith countless wounds from which the red drops start.Yet when sad lovers meet and tell their sighs,Not without praise shall Hafiz’ name be said,Not without tears, in those pale companiesWhere joy has been forgot and hope has fled.

I cease not from desire till my desire

Is satisfied; or let my mouth attain

My love’s red mouth, or let my soul expire,

Sighed from those lips that sought her lips in vain.

Others may find another love as fair;

Upon her threshold I have laid my head,

The dust shall cover me, still lying there,

When from my body life and love have fled.

My soul is on my lips ready to fly,But grief beats in my heart and will not cease,Because not once, not once before I die,Will her sweet lips give all my longing peace.My breath is narrowed down to one long sighFor a red mouth that burns my thoughts like fire;When will that mouth draw near and make replyTo one whose life is straitened with desire?

My soul is on my lips ready to fly,

But grief beats in my heart and will not cease,

Because not once, not once before I die,

Will her sweet lips give all my longing peace.

My breath is narrowed down to one long sigh

For a red mouth that burns my thoughts like fire;

When will that mouth draw near and make reply

To one whose life is straitened with desire?

When I am dead, open my grave and seeThe cloud of smoke that rises round thy feet:In my dead heart the fire still burns for thee;Yea, the smoke rises from my winding-sheet!Ah, come, Beloved! for the meadows waitThy coming, and the thorn bears flowers insteadOf thorns, the cypress fruit, and desolateBare winter from before thy steps has fled.

When I am dead, open my grave and see

The cloud of smoke that rises round thy feet:

In my dead heart the fire still burns for thee;

Yea, the smoke rises from my winding-sheet!

Ah, come, Beloved! for the meadows wait

Thy coming, and the thorn bears flowers instead

Of thorns, the cypress fruit, and desolate

Bare winter from before thy steps has fled.

Hoping within some garden ground to findA red rose soft and sweet as thy soft cheek,Through every meadow blows the western wind,Through every garden he is fain to seek.Reveal thy face! that the whole world may beBewildered by thy radiant loveliness;The cry of man and woman comes to thee,Open thy lips and comfort their distress!

Hoping within some garden ground to find

A red rose soft and sweet as thy soft cheek,

Through every meadow blows the western wind,

Through every garden he is fain to seek.

Reveal thy face! that the whole world may be

Bewildered by thy radiant loveliness;

The cry of man and woman comes to thee,

Open thy lips and comfort their distress!

Each curling lock of thy luxuriant hairBreaks into barbèd hooks to catch my heart,My broken heart is wounded everywhereWith countless wounds from which the red drops start.Yet when sad lovers meet and tell their sighs,Not without praise shall Hafiz’ name be said,Not without tears, in those pale companiesWhere joy has been forgot and hope has fled.

Each curling lock of thy luxuriant hair

Breaks into barbèd hooks to catch my heart,

My broken heart is wounded everywhere

With countless wounds from which the red drops start.

Yet when sad lovers meet and tell their sighs,

Not without praise shall Hafiz’ name be said,

Not without tears, in those pale companies

Where joy has been forgot and hope has fled.

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