INTRODUCTION (continued 2)

But empty syllables and meaningless.

The Zealot thirsts for draughts of Kausar’s wine,

And Hafiz doth an earthly cup prefer—

But what, between the two, is God’s design?

XII

Where is my ruined life, and where the fame

Of noble deeds?

Look on my long-drawn road, and whence it came,

And where it leads!

Can drunkenness be linked to piety

And good repute?

Where is the preacher’s holy monody,

Where is the lute?

From monkish cell and lying garb released,

Oh heart of mine,

Where is the Tavern fane, the Tavern priest,

Where is the wine?

Past days of meeting, let the memory

Of you be sweet!

Where are those glances fled, and where for me

Reproaches meet?

81His friend’s bright face warms not the enemy

When love is done—

Where is the extinguished lamp that made night day,

Where is the sun?

Balm to mine eyes the dust, my head I bow

Upon thy stair.

Where shall I go, where from thy presence? thou

Art everywhere.

Look not upon the dimple of her chin,

Danger lurks there!

Where wilt thou hide, oh trembling heart, fleeing in

Such mad haste—where?

To steadfastness and patience, friend, ask not

If Hafiz keep—

Patience and steadfastness I have forgot,

And where is sleep?

XIII

Lady that hast my heart within thy hand,

Thou heed’st me not; and if thou turn thine ear

Unto the wise, thou shalt not understand—

Behold the fault is thine, our words were clear.

For all the tumult in my drunken brain

Praise God! who trieth not His slave in vain;

Nor this world nor the next shall make me fear!

82My weary heart eternal silence keeps—

I know not who has slipped into my heart;

Though I am silent, one within me weeps.

My soul shall rend the painted veil apart.

Where art thou, Minstrel! touch thy saddest strings

Till clothed in music such as sorrow sings,

My mournful story from thy zither sweeps.

Lo, not at any time I lent mine ear

To hearken to the glories of the earth;

Only thy beauty to mine eyes was dear.

Sleep has forsaken me, and from the birth

Of night till day I weave bright dreams of thee;

Drunk with a hundred nights of revelry,

Where is the tavern that sets forth such cheer!

My heart, sad hermit, stains the cloister floor

With drops of blood, the sweat of anguish dire;

Ah, wash me clean, and o’er my body pour

Love’s generous wine! the worshippers of fire

Have bowed them down and magnified my name,

For in my heart there burns a living flame,

Transpiercing Death’s impenetrable door.

What instrument through last night’s silence rang?

My life into his lay the minstrel wove,

And filled my brain with the sweet song he sang.

It was the proclamation of thy love

That shook the strings of Life’s most secret lyre,

And still my breast heaves with last night’s desire,

For countless echoes from that music sprang.

83And ever, since the time that Hafiz heard

His Lady’s voice, as from a rocky hill

Reverberates the softly spoken word,

So echoes of desire his bosom fill.

XIV

The nightingale with drops of his heart’s blood

Had nourished the red rose, then came a wind,

And catching at the boughs in envious mood,

A hundred thorns about his heart entwined.

Like to the parrot crunching sugar, good

Seemed the world to me who could not stay

The wind of Death that swept my hopes away.

Light of mine eyes and harvest of my heart,

And mine at least in changeless memory!

Ah, when he found it easy to depart,

He left the harder pilgrimage to me!

Oh Camel-driver, though the cordage start,

For God’s sake help me lift my fallen load,

And Pity be my comrade of the road!

My face is seamed with dust, mine eyes are wet.

Of dust and tears the turquoise firmament

Kneadeth the bricks for joy’s abode; and yet ...

Alas, and weeping yet I make lament!

Because the moon her jealous glances set

Upon the bow-bent eyebrows of my moon,

He sought a lodging in the grave—too soon!

84I had not castled, and the time is gone.

What shall I play? Upon the chequered floor

Of Night and Day, Death won the game—forlorn

And careless now, Hafiz can lose no more.

XV

Return! that to a heart wounded full sore

Valiance and strength may enter in; return!

And Life shall pause at the deserted door,

The cold dead body breathe again and burn.

Oh come! and touch mine eyes, of thy sweet grace,

For I am blind to all but to thy face.

Open the gates and bid me see once more!

Like to a cruel Ethiopian band,

Sorrow despoiled the kingdom of my heart—

Return! glad Lord of Rome, and free the land;

Before thine arms the foe shall break and part.

See now, I hold a mirror to mine eyes,

And nought but thy reflection therein lies;

The glass speaks truth to them that understand.

Night is with child, hast thou not heard men say?

“Night is with child! what will she bring to birth?”

I sit and ask the stars when thou’rt away.

Oh come! and when the nightingale of mirth

Pipes in the Spring-awakened garden ground,

In Hafiz’ heart shall ring a sweeter sound,

Diviner nightingales attune their lay.

85

XVI

What is wrought in the forge of the living and life—

All things are nought! Ho! fill me the bowl,

For nought is the gear of the world and the strife!

One passion has quickened the heart and the soul,

The Beloved’s presence alone they have sought—

Love at least exists; yet if Love were not,

Heart and soul would sink to the common lot—

All things are nought!

Like an empty cup is the fate of each,

That each must fill from Life’s mighty flood;

Nought thy toil, though to Paradise gate thou reach,

If Another has filled up thy cup with blood;

Neither shade from the sweet-fruited trees could be bought

By thy praying—oh Cypress of Truth, dost not see

That Sidreh and Tuba were nought, and to thee

All then were nought!

The span of thy life is as five little days,

Brief hours and swift in this halting-place;

Rest softly, ah rest! while the Shadow delays,

For Time’s self is nought and the dial’s face.

On the lip of Oblivion we linger, and short

Is the way from the Lip to the Mouth where we pass—

While the moment is thine, fill, oh Saki, the glass

Ere all is nought!

86Consider the rose that breaks into flower,

Neither repines though she fade and die—

The powers of the world endure for an hour,

But nought shall remain of their majesty.

Be not too sure of your crown, you who thought

That virtue was easy and recompense yours;

From the monastery to the wine-tavern doors

The way is nought!

What though I, too, have tasted the salt of my tears,

Though I, too, have burnt in the fires of grief,

Shall I cry aloud to unheeding ears?

Mourn and be silent! nought brings relief.

Thou, Hafiz, art praised for the songs thou hast wrought,

But bearing a stained or an honoured name,

The lovers of wine shall make light of thy fame—

All things are nought!

XVII

Lay not reproach at the drunkard’s door

Oh Fanatic, thou that art pure of soul;

Not thine on the page of life to enrol

The faults of others! Or less or more

I have swerved from my path—keep thou to thine own!

For every man when he reaches the goal

Shall reap the harvest his hands have sown.

Leave me the hope of a former grace—

Till the curtain is lifted none can tell

Whether in Heaven or deepest Hell,

Fair or vile, shall appear his face.

87Alike the drunk and the strict of fare

For his mistress yearns—in the mosque Love doth dwell

And the church, for his lodging is everywhere.

If without the house of devotion I stand,

I am not the first to throw wide the door;

My father opened it long before,

The eternal Paradise slipped from his hand.

All you that misconstrue my words’ intent,

I lie on the bricks of the tavern floor,

And a brick shall serve me for argument.

Heaven’s garden future treasures may yield—

Ah, make the most of earth’s treasury!

The flickering shade of the willow-tree,

And the grass-grown lip of the fruitful field.

Trust not in deeds—the Eternal Day

Shall reveal the Creator’s sentence on thee;

But till then, what His finger has writ, who can say.

Bring the cup in thine hand to the Judgment-seat;

Thou shalt rise, oh Hafiz, to Heaven’s gate

From the tavern where thou hast tarried late.

And if thou hast worshipped wine, thou shalt meet

The reward that the Faithful attain;

If such thy life, then fear not thy fate,

Thou shalt not have lived and worshipped in vain!

88

XVIII

Slaves of thy shining eyes are even those

That diadems of might and empire bear;

Drunk with the wine that from thy red lip flows,

Are they that e’en the grape’s delight forswear.

Drift, like the wind across a violet bed,

Before thy many lovers, weeping low,

And clad like violets in blue robes of woe,

Who feel thy wind-blown hair and bow the head.

Thy messenger the breath of dawn, and mine

A stream of tears, since lover and beloved

Keep not their secret; through my verses shine,

Though other lays my flower’s grace have proved

And countless nightingales have sung thy praise.

When veiled beneath thy curls thou passest, see,

To right and leftward those that welcome thee

Have bartered peace and rest on thee to gaze!

But thou that knowest God by heart, away!

Wine-drunk, love-drunk, we inherit Paradise,

His mercy is for sinners; hence and pray

Where wine thy cheek red as red erghwan dyes,

And leave the cell to faces sinister.

Oh Khizr, whose happy feet bathed in life’s fount,

Help one who toils afoot—the horsemen mount

And hasten on their way; I scarce can stir.

89Ah, loose me not! ah, set not Hafiz free

From out the bondage of thy gleaming hair!

Safe only those, safe, and at liberty,

That fast enchained in thy linked ringlets are.

But from the image of his dusty cheek

Learn this from Hafiz: proudest heads shall bend,

And dwellers on the threshold of a friend

Be crownèd with the dust that crowns the meek.

XIX

What drunkenness is this that brings me hope—

Who was the Cup-bearer, and whence the wine?

That minstrel singing with full voice divine,

What lay was his? for ’mid the woven rope

Of song, he brought word from my Friend to me

Set to his melody.

The wind itself bore joy to Solomon;

The Lapwing flew from Sheba’s garden close,

Bringing good tidings of its queen and rose.

Take thou the cup and go where meadows span

The plain, whither the bird with tuneful throat

Has brought Spring’s sweeter note.

Welcome, oh rose, and full-blown eglantine!

The violets their scented gladness fling,

Jasmin breathes purity—art sorrowing

Like an unopened bud, oh heart of mine?

The wind of dawn that sets closed blossoms free

Brings its warm airs to thee.

90Saki, thy kiss shall still my bitter cry!

Lift up your grief-bowed heads, all ye that weep,

The Healer brings joy’s wine-cup—oh, drink deep!

Disciple of the Tavern-priest am I;

The pious Sheikh may promise future bliss,

He brings me where joy is.

The greedy glances of a Tartar horde

To me seemed kind—my foeman spared me not

Though one poor robe was all that I had got.

But Heaven served Hafiz, as a slave his lord,

And when he fled through regions desolate,

Heaven brought him to thy gate.

XX

From out the street of So-and-So,

Oh wind, bring perfumes sweet to me!

For I am sick and pale with woe;

Oh bring me rest from misery!

The dust that lies before her door,

Love’s long desired elixir, pour

Upon this wasted heart of mine—

Bring me a promise and a sign!

Between the ambush of mine eyes

And my heart’s fort there’s enmity—

Her eye-brow’s bow, the dart that flies,

Beneath her lashes, bring to me!

91Sorrow and absence, glances cold,

Before my time have made me old;

A wine-cup from the hand of Youth

Bring me for pity and for ruth!

Then shall all unbelievers taste

A draught or two of that same wine;

But if they like it not, oh haste!

And let joy’s flowing cup be mine.

Cup-bearer, seize to-day, nor wait

Until to-morrow!—or from Fate

Some passport to felicity,

Some written surety bring to me!

My heart threw back the veil of woe,

Consoled by Hafiz’ melody:

From out the street of So-and-So,

Oh wind, bring perfumes sweet to me!

XXI

Not all the sum of earthly happiness

Is worth the bowed head of a moment’s pain,

And if I sell for wine my dervish dress,

Worth more than what I sell is what I gain!

Land where my Lady dwells, thou holdest me

Enchained; else Fars were but a barren soil,

Not worth the journey over land and sea,

Not worth the toil!

92Down in the quarter where they sell red wine,

My holy carpet scarce would fetch a cup—

How brave a pledge of piety is mine,

Which is not worth a goblet foaming up!

Mine enemy heaped scorn on me and said:

“Forth from the tavern gate!” Why am I thrust

From off the threshold? is my fallen head

Not worth the dust?

Wash white that travel-stained sad robe of thine!

Where word and deed alike one colour bear,

The grape’s fair purple garment shall outshine

Thy many-coloured rags and tattered gear.

Full easy seemed the sorrow of the sea

Lightened by hope of gain—hope flew too fast!

A hundred pearls were poor indemnity,

Not worth the blast.

The Sultan’s crown, with priceless jewels set,

Encircles fear of death and constant dread;

It is a head-dress much desired—and yet

Art sure ’tis worth the danger to the head?

’Twere best for thee to hide thy face from those

That long for thee; the Conqueror’s reward

Is never worth the army’s long-drawn woes,

Worth fire and sword.

Ah, seek the treasure of a mind at rest

And store it in the treasury of Ease;

Not worth a loyal heart, a tranquil breast,

Were all the riches of thy lands and seas!

93Ah, scorn, like Hafiz, the delights of earth,

Ask not one grain of favour from the base,

Two hundred sacks of jewels were not worth

Thy soul’s disgrace!

XXII

The rose is not fair without the beloved’s face,

Nor merry the Spring without the sweet laughter of wine;

The path through the fields, and winds from a flower-strewn place,

Without her bright cheek, which glows like a tulip fine,

Nor winds softly blowing, fields deep in corn, are fair.

And lips like to sugar, grace like a flower that sways,

Are nought without kisses many and dalliance sweet;

If thousands of voices sang not the rose’s praise,

The joy of the cypress her opening bud to greet,

Nor dancing of boughs nor blossoming rose were fair.

Though limned by most skilful fingers, no pictures please

Unless the beloved’s image is drawn therein;

The garden and flowers, and hair flowing loose on the breeze,

Unless to my Lady’s side I may strive and win,

Nor garden, nor flowers, nor loose flying curls are fair.

94Hast seen at a marriage-feast, when the mirth runs high,

The revellers scatter gold with a careless hand?

The gold of thy heart, oh Hafiz, despised doth lie,

Not worthy thy love to be cast by a drunken band

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

XXIII

My lady, that did change this house of mine

Into a heaven when that she dwelt therein,

From head to foot an angel’s grace divine

Enwrapped her; pure she was, spotless of sin;

Fair as the moon her countenance, and wise;

Lords of the kind and tender glance, her eyes

With an abounding loveliness did shine.

Then said my heart: Here will I take my rest!

This city breathes her love in every part.

But to a distant bourne was she addressed,

Alas! he knew it not, alas, poor heart!

The influence of some cold malignant star

Has loosed my hand that held her, lone and far

She journeyeth that lay upon my breast.

Not only did she lift my bosom’s veil,

Reveal its inmost secret, but her grace

Drew back the curtain from Heaven’s mansions pale,

And gave her there an eternal dwelling-place.

The flower-strewn river lip and meadows fair,

The rose herself but fleeting treasures were,

Regret and Winter follow in their trail.

95Dear were the days which perished with my friend—

Ah, what is left of life, now she is dead,

All wisdomless and profitless I spend!

The nightingale his own life’s blood doth shed,

When, to the kisses of the wind, the morn

Unveils the rose’s splendour—with his torn

And jealous breast he dyes her petals red.

Yet pardon her, oh Heart, for poor wert thou,

A humble dervish on the dusty way;

Crowned with the crown of empire was her brow,

And in the realms of beauty she bore sway.

But all the joy that Hafiz’ hand might hold,

Lay in the beads that morn and eve he told,

Worn with God’s praise; and see! he holds it now.

XXIV

Not one is filled with madness like to mine

In all the taverns! my soiled robe lies here,

There my neglected book, both pledged for wine.

With dust my heart is thick, that should be clear,

A glass to mirror forth the Great King’s face;

One ray of light from out Thy dwelling-place

To pierce my night, oh God! and draw me near.

From out mine eyes unto my garment’s hem

A river flows; perchance my cypress-tree

Beside that stream may rear her lofty stem,

Watering her roots with tears. Ah, bring to me

96The wine vessel! since my Love’s cheek is hid,

A flood of grief comes from my heart unbid,

And turns mine eyes into a bitter sea!

Nay, by the hand that sells me wine, I vow

No more the brimming cup shall touch my lips,

Until my mistress with her radiant brow

Adorns my feast—until Love’s secret slips

From her, as from the candle’s tongue of flame,

Though I, the singèd moth, for very shame,

Dare not extol Love’s light without eclipse.

Red wine I worship, and I worship her!—

Speak not to me of anything beside,

For nought but these on earth or heaven I care.

What though the proud narcissus flowers defied

Thy shining eyes to prove themselves more bright,

Yet heed them not! those that are clear of sight

Follow not them to whom all light’s denied.

Before the tavern door a Christian sang

To sound of pipe and drum, what time the earth

Awaited the white dawn, and gaily rang

Upon mine ear those harbingers of mirth:

“If the True Faith be such as thou dost say,

Alas! my Hafiz, that this sweet To-day

Should bring unknown To-morrow to the birth!”

97

XXV

The days of absence and the bitter nights

Of separation, all are at an end!

Where is the influence of the star that blights

My hope? The omen answers: At an end!

Autumn’s abundance, creeping Autumn’s mirth,

Are ended and forgot when o’er the earth

The wind of Spring with soft warm feet doth wend.

The Day of Hope, hid beneath Sorrow’s veil,

Has shown its face—ah, cry that all may hear:

Come forth! the powers of night no more prevail!

Praise be to God, now that the rose is near

With long-desired and flaming coronet,

The cruel stinging thorns all men forget,

The wind of Winter ends its proud career.

The long confusion of the nights that were,

Anguish that dwelt within my heart, is o’er;

’Neath the protection of my lady’s hair

Grief nor disquiet come to me no more.

What though her curls wrought all my misery,

My lady’s gracious face can comfort me,

And at the end give what I sorrow for.

Light-hearted to the tavern let me go,

Where laughs the pipe, the merry cymbals kiss;

Under the history of all my woe,

My mistress sets her hand and writes: Finis.

98Oh, linger not, nor trust the inconstant days

That promised: Where thou art thy lady stays—

The tale of separation ends with this!

Joy’s certain path, oh Saki, thou hast shown—

Long may thy cup be full, thy days be fair!

Trouble and sickness from my breast have flown,

Order and health thy wisdom marshals there.

Not one that numbered Hafiz’ name among

The great—unnumbered were his tears, unsung;

Praise him that sets an end to endless care!

XXVI

The secret draught of wine and love repressed

Are joys foundationless—then come whate’er

May come, slave to the grape I stand confessed!

Unloose, oh friend, the knot of thy heart’s care,

Despite the warning that the Heavens reveal!

For all his thought, never astronomer

That loosed the knot of Fate those Heavens conceal!

Not all the changes that thy days unfold

Shall rouse thy wonder; Time’s revolving sphere

Over a thousand lives like thine has rolled.

That cup within thy fingers, dost not hear

The voices of dead kings speak through the clay?

Kobad, Bahman, Djemshid, their dust is here,

“Gently upon me set thy lips!” they say.

99What man can tell where Kaus and Kai have gone?

Who knows where even now the restless wind

Scatters the dust of Djem’s imperial throne?

And where the tulip, following close behind

The feet of Spring, her scarlet chalice rears,

There Ferhad for the love of Shirin pined,

Dyeing the desert red with his heart’s tears.

Bring, bring the cup! drink we while yet we may

To our soul’s ruin the forbidden draught;

Perhaps a treasure-trove is hid away

Among those ruins where the wine has laughed!—

Perhaps the tulip knows the fickleness

Of Fortune’s smile, for on her stalk’s green shaft

She bears a wine-cup through the wilderness.

The murmuring stream of Ruknabad, the breeze

That blows from out Mosalla’s fair pleasaunce,

Summon me back when I would seek heart’s ease,

Travelling afar; what though Love’s countenance

Be turned full harsh and sorrowful on me,

I care not so that Time’s unfriendly glance

Still from my Lady’s beauty turned be.

Like Hafiz, drain the goblet cheerfully

While minstrels touch the lute and sweetly sing,

For all that makes thy heart rejoice in thee

Hangs of Life’s single, slender, silken string.

100

XXVII

My friend has fled! alas, my friend has fled,

And left me nought but tears and pain behind!

Like smoke above a flame caught by the wind,

So rose she from my breast and forth she sped.

Drunk with desire, I seized Love’s cup divine,

But she that held it poured the bitter wine

Of Separation into it and fled.

The hunter she, and I the helpless prey;

Wounded and sick, round me her toils she drew,

My heart into a sea of sorrow threw,

Bound up her camel loads and fled away.

Fain had I laid an ambush for her soul,

She saw and vanished, and the timid foal,

Good Fortune, slipped the rein and would not stay.

My heart was all too narrow for my woe,

And tears of blood my weeping eyes have shed,

A crimson stream across the desert sped,

Rising from out my sad heart’s overflow.

She knew not what Love’s meanest slave can tell:

“’Tis sweet to serve!” but threw me a Farewell,

Kissing my threshold, turned, and cried “I go!”

In the clear dawn, before the east was red,

Before the rose had torn her veil in two,

A nightingale through Hafiz’ garden flew,

Stayed but to fill its song with tears, and fled.

101

XXVIII

Hast thou forgotten when thy stolen glance

Was turned to me, when on my happy face

Clearly thy love was writ, which doth enhance

All happiness? or when my sore disgrace

(Hast thou forgot?) drew from thine eyes reproof,

And made thee hold thy sweet red lips aloof,

Dowered, like Jesus’ breath, with healing grace?

Hast thou forgotten how the glorious

Swift nights flew past, the cup of dawn brimmed high?

My love and I alone, God favouring us!

And when she like a waning moon did lie,

And Sleep had drawn his coif about her brow,

Hast thou forgot? Heaven’s crescent moon would bow

The head, and in her service pace the sky!

Hast thou forgotten, when a sojourner

Within the tavern gates and drunk with wine,

I found Love’s passionate wisdom hidden there,

Which in the mosque none even now divine?

The goblet’s carbuncle (hast thou forgot?)

Laughed out aloud, and speech flew hot

And fast between thy ruby lips and mine!

Hast thou forgotten when thy cheek’s dear torch

Lighted the beacon of desire in me,

And when my heart, like foolish moths that scorch

Their wings and yet return, turned all to thee?

102Within the banquet-hall of Good Repute

(Hast thou forgot?) the wine’s self-pressed my suit,

And filled the morn with drunken jollity!

Hast thou forgotten when thou laid’st aright

The uncut gems of Hafiz’ inmost thought,

And side by side thy sweet care strung the bright

Array of verse on verse—hast thou forgot?

XXIX

From Canaan Joseph shall return, whose face

A little time was hidden: weep no more—

Oh, weep no more! in sorrow’s dwelling-place

The roses yet shall spring from the bare floor!

And heart bowed down beneath a secret pain—

Oh stricken heart! joy shall return again,

Peace to the love-tossed brain—oh, weep no more!

Oh, weep no more! for once again Life’s Spring

Shall throne her in the meadows green, and o’er

Her head the minstrel of the night shall fling

A canopy of rose leaves, score on score.

The secret of the world thou shalt not learn,

And yet behind the veil Love’s fire may burn—

Weep’st thou? let hope return and weep no more!

To-day may pass, to-morrow pass, before

The turning wheel give me my heart’s desire;

Heaven’s self shall change, and turn not evermore

The universal wheel of Fate in ire.

103Oh Pilgrim nearing Mecca’s holy fane,

The thorny maghilan wounds thee in vain,

The desert blooms again—oh, weep no more!

What though the river of mortality

Round the unstable house of Life doth roar,

Weep not, oh heart, Noah shall pilot thee,

And guide thine ark to the desirèd shore!

The goal lies far, and perilous is thy road,

Yet every path leads to that same abode

Where thou shalt drop thy load—oh, weep no more!

Mine enemies have persecuted me,

My Love has turned and fled from out my door—

God counts our tears and knows our misery;

Ah, weep not! He has heard thy weeping sore.

And chained in poverty and plunged in night,

Oh Hafiz, take thy Koran and recite

Litanies infinite, and weep no more!

XXX

All hail, Shiraz, hail! oh site without peer!

May God be the Watchman before thy gate,

That the feet of Misfortune enter not here!

Lest my Ruknabad be left desolate,

A hundred times, “God forbid!” I pray;

Its limpid stream where the shadows wait

Like the fount of Khizr giveth life for aye.

104’Twixt Jafrabad and Mosalla’s close

Flies the north wind laden with ambergris—

Oh, come to Shiraz when the north wind blows!

There abideth the angel Gabriel’s peace

With him who is lord of its treasures; the fame

Of the sugar of Egypt shall fade and cease,

For the breath of our beauties has put it to shame.

Oh wind that blows from the sun-rising,

What news of the maid with the drunken eyes,

What news of the lovely maid dost thou bring?

Bid me not wake from my dream and arise,

In dreams I have rested my head at her feet—

When stillness unbroken around me lies,

The vision of her makes my solitude sweet.

If for wine the Cup-bearer pour forth my blood,

As the milk from a mother’s bosom flows,

At his word let my heart yield its crimson flood.

But, Hafiz, Hafiz! thou art of those

For ever fearing lest absence be near;

For the days when thou held’st the Beloved close,

Why rise not thy thanks so that all may hear?

XXXI

The breath of Dawn’s musk-strewing wind shall blow,

The ancient world shall turn to youth again,

And other wines from out Spring’s chalice flow;

105Wine-red, the judas-tree shall set before

The pure white jessamine a brimming cup,

And wind flowers lift their scarlet chalice up

For the star-pale narcissus to adore.

The long-drawn tyranny of grief shall pass,

Parting shall end in meeting, the lament

Of the sad bird that sang “Alas, alas!”

Shall reach the rose in her red-curtained tent.

Forth from the mosque! the tavern calls to me!

Would’st hinder us? The preacher’s homily

Is long, but life will soon be spent!

Ah, foolish Heart! the pleasures of To-day,

If thou abandon, will To-morrow stand

Thy surety for the gold thou’st thrown away?

In Sha’aban the troops of Grief disband,

And crown the hours with wine’s red coronet—

The sun of merriment ere long will set,

And meagre Ramazan is close at hand!

Dear is the rose—now, now her sweets proclaim,

While yet the purple petals blush and blow;

Hither adown the path of Spring she came,

And by the path of Autumn she will go.

Now, while we listen, Minstrel, tune thy lay!

Thyself hast said: “The Present steals away;

The Future comes, and bringing—what? Dost know?”

Summoned by thy melody did Hafiz rise

Out of the darkness near thy lips to dwell;

Back to the dark again his pathway lies—

Sing out, sing clear, and singing cry: Farewell!

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XXXII

Upon a branch of the straight cypress-tree

Once more the patient nightingale doth rest:

“Oh Rose!” he cries, “evil be turned from thee!

I sing thee all men’s thanks; thou blossomest

And hope springs up in every joyless heart—

Let not the nightingale lament apart,

Nor with thy proud thorns wound his faithful breast.”

I will not mourn my woeful banishment,

He that has hungered for his lady’s face

Shall, when she cometh, know a great content.

The Zealot seeks a heavenly dwelling-place,

Huris to welcome him in Paradise;

Here at the tavern gate my heaven lies,

I need no welcome but my lady’s grace.

Better to drink red wine than tears, say I,

While the lute sings; and if one bid thee cease,

“God is the merciful!” thou shalt reply.

To some, life brings but joy and endless ease;

Ah, let them laugh although the jest be vain!

For me the source of pleasure lay in pain,

And weeping for my lady I found peace.

Hafiz, why art thou ever telling o’er

The tale of absence and of sorrow’s night?

Knowest thou not that parting goes before

All meeting, and from darkness comes the light!

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XXXIII

The jewel of the secret treasury

Is still the same as once it was; the seal

Upon Love’s treasure casket, and the key,

Are still what thieves can neither break nor steal;

Still among lovers loyalty is found,

And therefore faithful eyes still strew the ground

With the same pearls that mine once strewed for thee.

Question the wandering winds and thou shalt know

That from the dusk until the dawn doth break,

My consolation is that still they blow

The perfume of thy curls across my cheek.

A dart from thy bent brows has wounded me—

Ah, come! my heart still waiteth helplessly,

Has waited ever, till thou heal its pain.

If seekers after rubies there were none,

Still to the dark mines where the gems had lain

Would pierce, as he was wont, the radiant sun,

Setting the stones ablaze. Would’st hide the stain

Of my heart’s blood? Blood-red the ruby glows

(And whence it came my wounded bosom knows)

Upon thy lips to show what thou hast done.

Let not thy curls waylay my pilgrim soul,

As robbers use, and plunder me no more!

Years join dead year, but thine extortionate rule

Is still the same, merciless as before.

Sing, Hafiz, sing again of eyes that weep!

For still the fountain of our tears is deep

As once it was, and still with tears is full.

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XXXIV

Last night I dreamed that angels stood without

The tavern door, and knocked in vain, and wept;

They took the clay of Adam, and, methought,

Moulded a cup therewith while all men slept.

Oh dwellers in the halls of Chastity!

You brought Love’s passionate red wine to me,

Down to the dust I am, your bright feet stept.

For Heaven’s self was all too weak to bear

The burden of His love God laid on it,

He turned to seek a messenger elsewhere,

And in the Book of Fate my name was writ.

Between my Lord and me such concord lies

As makes the Huris glad in Paradise,

With songs of praise through the green glades they flit.

A hundred dreams of Fancy’s garnered store

Assail me—Father Adam went astray

Tempted by one poor grain of corn! Wherefore

Absolve and pardon him that turns away

Though the soft breath of Truth reaches his ears,

For two-and-seventy jangling creeds he hears,

And loud-voiced Fable calls him ceaselessly.

That, that is not the flame of Love’s true fire

Which makes the torchlight shadows dance in rings,

But where the radiance draws the moth’s desire

And sends him forth with scorched and drooping wings.

109The heart of one who dwells retired shall break,

Rememb’ring a black mole and a red cheek,

And his life ebb, sapped at its secret springs.

Yet since the earliest time that man has sought

To comb the locks of Speech, his goodly bride,

Not one, like Hafiz, from the face of Thought

Has torn the veil of Ignorance aside.

XXXV

Forget not when dear friend to friend returned,

Forget not days gone by, forget them not!

My mouth has tasted bitterness, and learned

To drink the envenomed cup of mortal lot;

Forget not when a sweeter draught was mine,

Loud rose the songs of them that drank that wine—

Forget them not!

Forget not loyal lovers long since dead,

Though faith and loyalty should be forgot,

Though the earth cover the enamoured head,

And in the dust wisdom and passion rot.

My friends have thrust me from their memory;

Vainly a thousand thousand times I cry:

Forget me not!

Weary I turn me to my bonds again.

Once there were hands strong to deliver me,

Forget not when they broke a poor slave’s chain!

Though from mine eyes tears flow unceasingly,

110I think on them whose rose gardens are set

Beside the Zindeh Rud, and I forget

Life’s misery.

Sorrow has made her lair in my breast,

And undisturbed she lies—forget them not

That drove her forth like to a hunted beast!

Hafiz, thou and thy tears shall be forgot,

Lock fast the gates of thy sad heart! But those

That held the key to thine unspoken woes—

Forget them not!

XXXVI

Beloved, who has bid thee ask no more

How fares my life? to play the enemy

And ask not where he dwells that was thy friend?

Thou art the breath of mercy passing o’er

The whole wide world, and the offender I;

Ah, let the rift my tears have channelled end,

Question the past no more!

If thou would’st know the secret of Love’s fire,

It shall be manifest unto thine eyes:

Question the torch flame burning steadfastly,

But ask no more the sweet wind’s wayward choir.

Ask me of faith and love that never dies;

Darius, Alexander’s sovereignty,

I sing of these no more.

111Ask not the monk to give thee Truth’s pure gold,

He hides no riches ’neath his lying guise;

And ask not him to teach thee alchemy

Whose treasure-house is bare, his hearth-stone cold.

Ask to what goal the wandering dervish hies,

They knew not his desire who counselled thee:

Question his rags no more!

And in their learned books thou’lt seek in vain

The key to Love’s locked gateway; Heart grown wise

In pain and sorrow, ask no remedy!

But when the time of roses comes again,

Take what it gives, oh Hafiz, ere it flies,

And ask not why the hour has brought it thee,

And wherefore ask no more!

XXXVII

Arise! and fill a golden goblet up

Until the wine of pleasure overflow,

Before into thy skull’s pale empty cup

A grimmer Cup-bearer the dust shall throw.

Yea, to the Vale of Silence we must come;

Yet shall the flagon laugh and Heaven’s dome

Thrill with an answering echo ere we go!

Thou knowest that the riches of this field

Make no abiding, let the goblet’s fire

Consume the fleeting harvest Earth may yield!

Oh Cypress-tree! green home of Love’s sweet choir,

112When I unto the dust I am have passed,

Forget thy former wantonness, and cast

Thy shadow o’er the dust of my desire.

Flow, bitter tears, and wash me clean! for they

Whose feet are set upon the road that lies

’Twixt Earth and Heaven: “Thou shalt be pure,” they say,

“Before unto the pure thou lift thine eyes.”

Seeing but himself, the Zealot sees but sin;

Grief to the mirror of his soul let in,

Oh Lord, and cloud it with the breath of sighs!

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.

XXXVIII

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.

113Others 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 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 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 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!

114Each 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.

XXXIX

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 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 sorcery

When from those gates the blue-veined curtains rise.

115And 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 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 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.

XL

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.

116Let 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.

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.

XLI

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.

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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 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?

118A 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 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?

XLIII

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.

119When 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!

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