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Hafiz Divan




Ho, saki, haste, the beaker bring,
Fill up, and pass it round the thing
Love seemed at first an easy thing-
But ah! The hard awakening.

So sweet perfume the morning air
Did lately from her tresses bear,
Her twisted, musk-diffusing hair-
What heart’s calamity was there!

Within life’s caravanserai
What brief security have I,
When momently the bell doth cry,
“bind on your loads; the hour is nigh!

Let wine upon the prayer-mat flow,
An id the taverner bids so;
Whose wont is on this road to go
Its ways and manners well doth know.

Mark now the mad career of me,
From willfulness to infamy;
Yet how conceal that mystery
Whereof men make festivity?

A mountain sea, moon clouded o’er,
And nigh the whirlpool’s awful roar-
How can they know our labor sore
Who pass light-burdened on the shore?

Hafiz, if thou wouldst win her grace,
Be never absent from thy place;
When thou dost see the well-loved face,
Be lost at last to time and space.
A. J. A.




Where is the pious doer? And I the estray'd one, where?
Behold how far the distance, from his safe home to here!

Dark is the stony desert, trackless and vast and dim,
Where is hope's guiding lantern? Where is faith's star so fair?

My heart fled from the cloister, and chant of monkish hymn,
What can avail me sainthood, fasting and punctual prayer?

What is the truth shell light me to heaven's strait thoroughfare?
Whither, O heart, thou hastest? Arrest thee, and beware!

See what a lone adventure is thine unending quest!
Fraught with what deadly danger! Set with what unseen snare!

Say not, O friend, to Hafez, "Quiet thee now and rest!"
Calm and content, what are they? Patience and peace, O where?





Sweet maid, if thou would'st charm my sight,
And bid these arms thy neck in fold;
That rosy cheek, that lily hand,
Would give thy poet more delight
Than all Bocara's vaunted gold, Boy, let yon liquid ruby flow,
Than all the gems of Samarcand. And bid thy pensive heart be glad,
What're the frowning zealots say:
Tell them, their Eden cannot show
O! when these fair perfidious maids, A stream so clear as Rocnabad,
Whose eyes our secret haunts infest, A bower so sweet as Mosellay.
Their dear destructive charms display;
Each glance my tender breast invades,
And robs my wounded soul of rest, In vain with love our bosoms glow:
As tartars seize their destin'd prey. Can all our tears, can all our sighs,
New luster to those charms impart?
Can cheeks, where living roses blow,
Speak not of fate: ah! Change the theme, Where nature spreads her richest dyes,
And talk of odors, talk of wine, Require the borrow'd gloss of art?
Talk of the flowers that round us bloom:
'Tis all a cloud, 'tis all a dream;
To love and joy thy thoughts confine, Beauty has such resistless power,
Nor hope to pierce the sacred gloom. Than even the chaste Egyptian dame
Sigh'd for the blooming Hebrew boy:
For her how fatal was the hour,
But ah! Sweet maid, my counsel hear When to the banks of Nilus came
(Youth should attend when those advise A youth so lovely and so coy!
Whom long experience renders sage):
While music charms the ravish'd ear;
While sparkling cups delight our eyes, What cruel answer have heard!
Be gay; and scorn the frowns of age. And yet, by heaven, I love thee still:
Can aught be cruel from thy lip?
Yet say, how fell that bitter word
Go boldly forth, my simple lay, From lips which streams of sweetness fill,
Whose accents flow with artless ease, Which nought but drops of honey sip?
Like orient pearls random strung:
Thy notes are sweet, the damsels say;
But O! far sweeter, if they please
The nymph for whom these notes are sung.





Go, friendly Zephyr! whisp' ring greet
Yon gentle fawn with slender feet;
Say that in quest of her I rove
The dangerous steeps, the wilds of love.

Thou merchant who dost sweetness vend
(Long may kind heav'n thy life defend!)
Ah, why unfriendly thus forget
Thy an' rous sweet-billed parroquet?

Is it, O rose! Thy beauty's pride
That casts affection far aside,
Forbidding thee to court the tale
Of thy fond mate, the nightingale?

I know not why 'tis rare to see
The colour of sincerity
In nymphs who boast majestic grace,
Dark eyes, and silver-beaming face.

What tho' that face be angel fair,
One fault does all its beauty marr;
Nor faith, nor constancy adorn
Thy charms, which else might shame the morn.

By gentle manners we control
The wise, the sense-illumin'd soul:
No idle lure, no glitt' ring bait
Th' experience'd bide will captivate.

What wonder, Hafez, that thy strain,
Whose sounds inchant th' ethereal plain,
Should tempt each graver star to move
In dances with the star of love?





With sullen pace stern winter leaves the plain,
And blooming spring trips gaily o'er the meads,
Sweet Philomel now swells her plaintive strain,
And her lov'd rose his blushing beauties spreads.

O Zephyr, whilst you waft your gentle gale,
Fraught with the fragrance of Arabic's groves,
Breathe my soft wishes through you blooming vale,
Tell charming Leila how her poet loves!

O! for one heavenly glance from that dear maid,
How would my raptur'd heart with joy rebound;
Down to her feet I'd lowly bend my head,
And with my eyebrows sweep the hallow'd ground.

Could those stern fools who steal religion's mask,
And rail against the sweet delights of live,
Fair Leila see, no paradise they'd ask,
But for her smiles renounce the joys above.

Trust not in fortune, vain deluded charm!
Whom wise men shun, and only fools adore.
Oft, whilst she smiles, Fate sounds the dread alarm,
Round flies her wheel; you sink to rise no more.

Ye rich and great, why rear those princely domes?
Those heaven-aspiring towers why proudly raise?
Lo! Whilst triumphant all around you blooms,
Death's awful angel numbers out your days.

Sweet tyrant, longer in that flinty breast
Lock not thy heart, my bosom is its throne;
There let the charming flutt'er gently rest;
Here feast on joys to vulgar souls unknown.

But ah! What means that fiercely-rolling eye,
Those pointed locks which scent the ambient air;
Now my fond hopes in wild disorder fly,
Low droops my love, a prey to black despair.

Those charming brows, arch'd like the heavenly bow,
Arm not, O gentle maid, with such disdain;
Drive not a wretch, already sunk full low,
Hopeless to mourn his never-ceasing pain.

But to the fair no longer be a slsve;
Drink, Hafez! Revel, all your cares undend,
And boldly scorn the mean dissembling knave
Who makes religion every vice defend!




The house of hope is built on sand,
And life's foundations rest on air;
Then come, give wine into my hand,
That we may make an end o9f care.
Let me be slave to that man's will
Who 'neat high heaven's turquoise bowl
Hath won and wined freedom still
From all entanglement of soul;
Save that the mind entangled be
Provoking love and loyalty
Relieves the mind of all distress.
Last night as toping I had been
In tavern, shall I tell to thee
What message from the to me?
"Falcon of sovereign renown,
High-nesting bird of lofty gaze,
This corner of affliction town
A heavenly angel brought to me?"
"Hearst thou nit the whistle's call
From heaven's rampart shrills for thee?
What chanced I cannot guess ah all
This snare should now thy prison be."
Heed now the counsel that I give,
And be it to thy acts applied;
For these are words I did receive
From him that was my ancient guide.
"Be pleased with what the fates bestow,
Nor let thy brow be furrowed thus;
The gate to freedom here below





Wild of mien, chanting a love-song, cup in hand, locks disarrayed,
Cheek be flushed, wine-overcome, vesture awry, breast displayed.

With a challenge in that eye's glance, with a love-charm on the lip,
Came my live, sat by my bedside in the dim midnight shade:

O'er my ear bending, my live spake in a sad voice and a low,
"Is it thus, spite of the old years, liver mine, slumber-bewrayed?"

To the wise comes there a cup, fired of the night, pressed to the lip;
An he bow not to the Wine Creed, be writ love's renegade.

Go thy way, saint of the cell, flout not the dreg-drainer again;
In the first hour of the world's birth was the high hest on us laid.

Whatsoe'er potion His hand pours in the bowl, that will we quaff,
Heady ferment of the Soul-world, or the grape-must unalloyed.

Ah, how oft, e'en as with Hafez, hath the red smile of the vine
And the curled ringlet on Love's cheek a repentance unmade!






The rose has flushed red, the bud has burst,
And drunk with joy is the nightingale –
Hail, Sufis! Lovers of wine all hail!
For wine is proclaimed to a world atheist,
Like a rock your repentance seemed to you;
Behold the marvel! of what avail
Was your rock, for a goblet has cleft it in two!
Bring wine for the king and the slave at the gate
Alike for all is the banquet spread,
And drunk and sober are warmed and fed.
When the feast is done and the night grows late,
And the second door of the tavern gapes wide,
The low and the mighty must bow the head
'Neath the archway of Life, to meet what … outside?
Except thy road through affliction pass,
None may reach the halting-station of mirth;
God's treaty: Am I not Lord of the earth?
Man sealed with a sigh: Ah yes, alas!
Nor with Is nor Is Not let thy mind contend;
Rest assured all perfection of mortal birth
On the great Is Not at the last shall end.
For Assaf's pomp and the steeds of the wind,
And the speech of birds, down the wind have fled,
And he that was lord of them all is dead;
Of his mastery nothing remains behind.
Shoot not thy feathered arrow astray!
A bow-shot's length through the air it has sped,
And then…dropped down in the dusty way.
But to thee, oh Hafez, to thee, oh Tongue
That speaks through the mouth of the slender reed.
What thanks to thee when thy verses speed
From lip to lip, and the song thou hast sung?





My bosom grac'd with each gay flower,
I grasp the bowl, my nymph in glee;
The monarch of the world this hour,
Is but a slave compar'd to me.

Intrude not with the taper's light,
My social friends, with beaming eyes;
Trundle around a starry night,
And lo! My nymph the moon supplies.

Away, thy sprinkling odours spare,
Be not officiously this kind;
The waving ringlets of my Fair,
Shed perfume to the fainting wind.

My ears th' enlivening notes inspire,
As lute or harp alternate sound;
My eyes those ruby lips admire,
Or catch the glasses sparkling round.

Then let no moments steal away,
Without thy mistress and thy wine;
The spring flowers blossom to decay,
And youth but glows to own decline.






Zephyr, should'st thou chance to rove
By the mansion of my love,
From her locks ambrosial bring
Choicest odours on thy wing.

Culd'st thou waft me from her breast
Tender sighs to say I'm blest,
As she lives! My soul would be
Sprinkl'd o'er with ecstasty.

But if Heav'n the boon deny,
Round her stately footsteps fly,
With the dust that thence may rise,
Stop the tears which bathe these eyes.

Lost, poor mendicant! I roam
Begging, craving she would come:
Where shall I thy phantom see,
Where, dear nymph, a glimpse of thee?

Like the wind-tost reed my breast
Fann'd with hope is ne'er at rest,
Throbbing, longing to excess
Her fair figure to caress.

Yes, my charmer, tho' I see
Thy heart courts no love with me,
Not for worlds, could they be mine,
Would I give a hair of thine.

Why, O care! Shall I in vein
Strive to shun thy galling chain,
When these strains still fail to save,
And make Hafiz more a slave.




Thus spoke at dawn the field-bird to the newly wakened rose:
“Be kind, for many a bloom like you in this meadow grows.”
The rose laughed: “You will find that we at truth show no distress,
But never did a lover with harsh words his love so press.
If ruby wine from jeweled cup it is your wish to drink,
Then pearls and corals pierced with eyelash you must strive to link.
Love’s savor to his nostrils to entice he ne’er can seek,
Who on the tavern’s earthy floor has not swept dusty cheek.”
In Lram’s garden yester night, when, in the grateful air,
The breeze of coming day stirred the tress of hyacinth fair,
I asked: “Throne of Jamshid, where is thy world-revealing cup?”
It sighed: “That waking fortune deep in sleep lies muffled up.”
They are not always words of love that from the tongue descend:
Come, bring, me wine, O taverner, and to this talk put end.
His wit and patience to the waves are cast by Hafiz’ tears.
What can he do, that may not hide how love his being sears?





Wind from the east, oh Lapwing of the day,
I send thee to my Lady, though the way
Is far to Saba, where I bid thee fly;
Lest in the dust thy tame less wings should lie,
Broken with grief, I send thee to thy nest,
Or far or near there is no halting-place
Upon Love’s road-absent, I se thy face,
And in thin eat my wind-blown greetings sound,
North winds and east waft them where they are bound,
Each morn and eve convoys of greeting fair
I send to thee.
Unto mine eyes a stranger, thou that art
A comrade ever-present to my heart,
What whispered prayers and what full meed of praise
I send to thee,
Lest Sorrow’s army waste thy heart’s domain,
I send my life to bring thee peace again,
Dear life thy ransom! From thy singers learn
How one that longs for thee may weep and burn;
Sonnets and broken words, sweet notes and songs
I send to thee.
Give me the cup! A voice rings in mine ears
Crying: “Bear patiently the bitter years!
For all thin ills, I send thee heavenly grace,
God the Creator mirrored in thy face
Thin eyes shall see, God’s image in the glass
I send to thee.”





The secret draught of wine and love repressed
Are joys foundationless-then come what’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 Heart’s 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, Bahaman, Djemshid, their dust is here,
“Gently upon me set thy lips!” they say.

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

Bring, bring the cup! Drink we while yet we may
To our soul’s ruin the fotbidden 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,
Traveling 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.





That day of friendship when we met-Recall;
Recall those days of fond regret,
As bitter poison grief my palate sours:
The sound: ”Be it sweet!” at feasts of ours
My friends, it may be, have forgotten long;
But I a thousand times that throng
And now while fettered by misfortune’s chain,
All those who grateful sought my gain
Though thousand rivers from my eyes descsnd,
I Zindarud, where gardeners tend,
And crushed by sorrow that finds no relief,
Those who brought solace to my grief
No more from HAFIZ lips shall secrets pass:
Those who once kept them, I, alas!






Long years my heart had made request That is a pearl by far too rare
Of me, a stranger, hopefully To be contained within the shell
(Not knowing that itself possessed Of time and space; lost vagrants there
The treasure that it sought of me), Upon the ocean’s margin, well
That Jamshid’s chalice I should win We know it is a vain surmise
And it would see the world therein. That we should hold so great a prize.
This was a man that loved God well;
In every motion of his mind
God dwelt; and yet he could not tell
That God was in him, being blind:
Wherefore as if afar he stood
And cried, “Have mercy, O my God!”
This problem that had vexed me long I saw him standing in his place,
Last night unto the taverner A goblet in his grasp, a smile
I carried; for my hope was strong Of right good cheer upon his face,
His judgement sure, that could not err, As in the glass he gazed awhile
Might swiftly solve infallibly And seemed to view in vision clear
The riddle that had baffled me. A hundred truths reflected there.
“That friend who, being raised sublime So spake he; adding, “But the heart
Upon the gallows, glorified That has the truth within its hold
The tree that slew him for his crime, And, practicing the rosebud’s art,
This was the sin for which he died, Conceals a mystery in each fold,
That, having secrets in his charge, That heart hath well this comment lined
He told them to the world at large,” Upon the margin of the mind.”
“When Moses unto Pharaoh stood, “And if the Holy Ghost descend
The men of magic strove in vain In grace and power infinite
Against his miracle of wood; His comfort in these days to lend
So every subtlety of brain To them that humbly wait on it,
Must surely fail and feeble be Theirs too the wondrous works can be
Before the soul’s supremacy.” That Jesus wrought in Galilee.”
“What season did the Spirit wise “Yon twisted coil, yon chain of hair
This all-revealing cup assign Why doth the lovely Idol spread
Within thy keeping?” “When the skies To keep me fast and fettered there?”
Were painted by the Hand Divine “Ah, Hafiz!”, so the wise man said,
And heaven’s mighty void was spanned, “’Tis a mad heart, and needs restraint
Then gave He this into my hand.” That speaks within thee this complaint.”
A. J. A.





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