Divan of Hafiz (selected odes)

Not one is filled with madness like to mine In all the taverns! my soiled robe lies here, There my neglected book, both pledged for wine. With dust my heart is thick, that should be clear, A glass to mirror forth the Great King’s face; One ray of light from out Thy dwelling-place To pierce my night, oh God! and draw me near. From out mine eyes unto my garment’s hem A river flows; perchance my cypress-tree Beside that stream may rear her lofty stem, Watering her roots with tears. Ah, bring to me The wine vessel! since my Love’s cheek is hid, A flood of grief comes from my heart unbid, And turns mine eyes into a bitter sea! Nay, by the hand that sells me wine, I vow No more the brimming cup shall touch my lips, Until my mistress with her radiant brow Adorns my feast—until Love’s secret slips From her, as from the candle’s tongue of flame, Though I, the singèd moth, for very shame, Dare not extol Love’s light without eclipse.

Red wine I worship, and I worship her!— Speak not to me of anything beside, For nought but these on earth or heaven I care. What though the proud narcissus flowers defied Thy shining eyes to prove themselves more bright, Yet heed them not! those that are clear of sight Follow not them to whom all light’s denied. Before the tavern door a Christian sang To sound of pipe and drum, what time the earth Awaited the white dawn, and gaily rang Upon mine ear those harbingers of mirth: “If the True Faith be such as thou dost say, Alas! my Hafiz, that this sweet To-day Should bring unknown To-morrow to the birth!”

The days of absence and the bitter nights Of separation, all are at an end! Where is the influence of the star that blights My hope? The omen answers: At an end! Autumn’s abundance, creeping Autumn’s mirth, Are ended and forgot when o’er the earth The wind of Spring with soft warm feet doth wend. The Day of Hope, hid beneath Sorrow’s veil, Has shown its face—ah, cry that all may hear: Come forth! the powers of night no more prevail! Praise be to God, now that the rose is near With long-desired and flaming coronet, The cruel stinging thorns all men forget, The wind of Winter ends its proud career. The long confusion of the nights that were, Anguish that dwelt within my heart, is o’er; ’Neath the protection of my lady’s hair Grief nor disquiet come to me no more. What though her curls wrought all my misery, My lady’s gracious face can comfort me, And at the end give what I sorrow for. Light-hearted to the tavern let me go, Where laughs the pipe, the merry cymbals kiss; Under the history of all my woe, My mistress sets her hand and writes: Finis. Oh, linger not, nor trust the inconstant days That promised: Where thou art thy lady stays— The tale of separation ends with this!

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

The secret draught of wine and love repressed Are joys foundationless—then come whate’er May come, slave to the grape I stand confessed! Unloose, oh friend, the knot of thy heart’s care, Despite the warning that the Heavens reveal! For all his thought, never astronomer That loosed the knot of Fate those Heavens conceal! Not all the changes that thy days unfold Shall rouse thy wonder; Time’s revolving sphere Over a thousand lives like thine has rolled. That cup within thy fingers, dost not hear The voices of dead kings speak through the clay? Kobad, Bahman, Djemshid, their dust is here, “Gently upon me set thy lips!” they say. What man can tell where Kaus and Kai have gone? Who knows where even now the restless wind Scatters the dust of Djem’s imperial throne? And where the tulip, following close behind The feet of Spring, her scarlet chalice rears, There Ferhad for the love of Shirin pined, Dyeing the desert red with his heart’s tears. Bring, bring the cup! drink we while yet we may To our soul’s ruin the forbidden draught; Perhaps a treasure-trove is hid away Among those ruins where the wine has laughed!— Perhaps the tulip knows the fickleness Of Fortune’s smile, for on her stalk’s green shaft She bears a wine-cup through the wilderness.

The murmuring stream of Ruknabad, the breeze That blows from out Mosalla’s fair pleasaunce, Summon me back when I would seek heart’s ease, Travelling afar; what though Love’s countenance Be turned full harsh and sorrowful on me, I care not so that Time’s unfriendly glance Still from my Lady’s beauty turned be. Like Hafiz, drain the goblet cheerfully While minstrels touch the lute and sweetly sing, For all that makes thy heart rejoice in thee Hangs of Life’s single, slender, silken string.

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.

Hast thou forgotten when thy stolen glance Was turned to me, when on my happy face Clearly thy love was writ, which doth enhance All happiness? or when my sore disgrace (Hast thou forgot?) drew from thine eyes reproof, And made thee hold thy sweet red lips aloof, Dowered, like Jesus’ breath, with healing grace? Hast thou forgotten how the glorious Swift nights flew past, the cup of dawn brimmed high? My love and I alone, God favouring us! And when she like a waning moon did lie, And Sleep had drawn his coif about her brow, Hast thou forgot? Heaven’s crescent moon would bow The head, and in her service pace the sky! Hast thou forgotten, when a sojourner Within the tavern gates and drunk with wine, I found Love’s passionate wisdom hidden there, Which in the mosque none even now divine? The goblet’s carbuncle (hast thou forgot?) Laughed out aloud, and speech flew hot And fast between thy ruby lips and mine! Hast thou forgotten when thy cheek’s dear torch Lighted the beacon of desire in me, And when my heart, like foolish moths that scorch Their wings and yet return, turned all to thee? Within the banquet-hall of Good Repute (Hast thou forgot?) the wine’s self-pressed my suit, And filled the morn with drunken jollity!

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

From Canaan Joseph shall return, whose face A little time was hidden: weep no more— Oh, weep no more! in sorrow’s dwelling-place The roses yet shall spring from the bare floor! And heart bowed down beneath a secret pain— Oh stricken heart! joy shall return again, Peace to the love-tossed brain—oh, weep no more! Oh, weep no more! for once again Life’s Spring Shall throne her in the meadows green, and o’er Her head the minstrel of the night shall fling A canopy of rose leaves, score on score. The secret of the world thou shalt not learn, And yet behind the veil Love’s fire may burn— Weep’st thou? let hope return and weep no more! To-day may pass, to-morrow pass, before The turning wheel give me my heart’s desire; Heaven’s self shall change, and turn not evermore The universal wheel of Fate in ire. Oh Pilgrim nearing Mecca’s holy fane, The thorny maghilan wounds thee in vain, The desert blooms again—oh, weep no more!

What though the river of mortality Round the unstable house of Life doth roar, Weep not, oh heart, Noah shall pilot thee, And guide thine ark to the desirèd shore! The goal lies far, and perilous is thy road, Yet every path leads to that same abode Where thou shalt drop thy load—oh, weep no more! Mine enemies have persecuted me, My Love has turned and fled from out my door— God counts our tears and knows our misery; Ah, weep not! He has heard thy weeping sore. And chained in poverty and plunged in night, Oh Hafiz, take thy Koran and recite Litanies infinite, and weep no more!

All hail, Shiraz, hail! oh site without peer! May God be the Watchman before thy gate, That the feet of Misfortune enter not here! Lest my Ruknabad be left desolate, A hundred times, “God forbid!” I pray; Its limpid stream where the shadows wait Like the fount of Khizr giveth life for aye. ’Twixt Jafrabad and Mosalla’s close Flies the north wind laden with ambergris— Oh, come to Shiraz when the north wind blows! There abideth the angel Gabriel’s peace With him who is lord of its treasures; the fame Of the sugar of Egypt shall fade and cease, For the breath of our beauties has put it to shame. Oh wind that blows from the sun-rising, What news of the maid with the drunken eyes, What news of the lovely maid dost thou bring? Bid me not wake from my dream and arise, In dreams I have rested my head at her feet— When stillness unbroken around me lies, The vision of her makes my solitude sweet.

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

The breath of Dawn’s musk-strewing wind shall blow, The ancient world shall turn to youth again, And other wines from out Spring’s chalice flow; Wine-red, the judas-tree shall set before The pure white jessamine a brimming cup, And wind flowers lift their scarlet chalice up For the star-pale narcissus to adore. The long-drawn tyranny of grief shall pass, Parting shall end in meeting, the lament Of the sad bird that sang “Alas, alas!” Shall reach the rose in her red-curtained tent. Forth from the mosque! the tavern calls to me! Would’st hinder us? The preacher’s homily Is long, but life will soon be spent! Ah, foolish Heart! the pleasures of To-day, If thou abandon, will To-morrow stand Thy surety for the gold thou’st thrown away? In Sha’aban the troops of Grief disband, And crown the hours with wine’s red coronet— The sun of merriment ere long will set, And meagre Ramazan is close at hand! Dear is the rose—now, now her sweets proclaim, While yet the purple petals blush and blow; Hither adown the path of Spring she came, And by the path of Autumn she will go. Now, while we listen, Minstrel, tune thy lay! Thyself hast said: “The Present steals away; The Future comes, and bringing—what? Dost know?”

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

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!

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.

Last night I dreamed that angels stood without The tavern door, and knocked in vain, and wept; They took the clay of Adam, and, methought, Moulded a cup therewith while all men slept. Oh dwellers in the halls of Chastity! You brought Love’s passionate red wine to me, Down to the dust I am, your bright feet stept. For Heaven’s self was all too weak to bear The burden of His love God laid on it, He turned to seek a messenger elsewhere, And in the Book of Fate my name was writ. Between my Lord and me such concord lies As makes the Huris glad in Paradise, With songs of praise through the green glades they flit. A hundred dreams of Fancy’s garnered store Assail me—Father Adam went astray Tempted by one poor grain of corn! Wherefore Absolve and pardon him that turns away Though the soft breath of Truth reaches his ears, For two-and-seventy jangling creeds he hears, And loud-voiced Fable calls him ceaselessly.

That, that is not the flame of Love’s true fire Which makes the torchlight shadows dance in rings, But where the radiance draws the moth’s desire And sends him forth with scorched and drooping wings. The heart of one who dwells retired shall break, Rememb’ring a black mole and a red cheek, And his life ebb, sapped at its secret springs. Yet since the earliest time that man has sought To comb the locks of Speech, his goodly bride, Not one, like Hafiz, from the face of Thought Has torn the veil of Ignorance aside.

Forget not when dear friend to friend returned, Forget not days gone by, forget them not! My mouth has tasted bitterness, and learned To drink the envenomed cup of mortal lot; Forget not when a sweeter draught was mine, Loud rose the songs of them that drank that wine— Forget them not! Forget not loyal lovers long since dead, Though faith and loyalty should be forgot, Though the earth cover the enamoured head, And in the dust wisdom and passion rot. My friends have thrust me from their memory; Vainly a thousand thousand times I cry: Forget me not! Weary I turn me to my bonds again. Once there were hands strong to deliver me, Forget not when they broke a poor slave’s chain! Though from mine eyes tears flow unceasingly, I think on them whose rose gardens are set Beside the Zindeh Rud, and I forget Life’s misery. Sorrow has made her lair in my breast, And undisturbed she lies—forget them not That drove her forth like to a hunted beast! Hafiz, thou and thy tears shall be forgot, Lock fast the gates of thy sad heart! But those That held the key to thine unspoken woes— Forget them not!

Beloved, who has bid thee ask no more How fares my life? to play the enemy And ask not where he dwells that was thy friend? Thou art the breath of mercy passing o’er The whole wide world, and the offender I; Ah, let the rift my tears have channelled end, Question the past no more! If thou would’st know the secret of Love’s fire, It shall be manifest unto thine eyes: Question the torch flame burning steadfastly, But ask no more the sweet wind’s wayward choir. Ask me of faith and love that never dies; Darius, Alexander’s sovereignty, I sing of these no more. Ask not the monk to give thee Truth’s pure gold, He hides no riches ’neath his lying guise; And ask not him to teach thee alchemy Whose treasure-house is bare, his hearth-stone cold. Ask to what goal the wandering dervish hies, They knew not his desire who counselled thee: Question his rags no more! And in their learned books thou’lt seek in vain The key to Love’s locked gateway; Heart grown wise In pain and sorrow, ask no remedy! But when the time of roses comes again, Take what it gives, oh Hafiz, ere it flies, And ask not why the hour has brought it thee, And wherefore ask no more!

Arise! and fill a golden goblet up Until the wine of pleasure overflow, Before into thy skull’s pale empty cup A grimmer Cup-bearer the dust shall throw. Yea, to the Vale of Silence we must come; Yet shall the flagon laugh and Heaven’s dome Thrill with an answering echo ere we go! Thou knowest that the riches of this field Make no abiding, let the goblet’s fire Consume the fleeting harvest Earth may yield! Oh Cypress-tree! green home of Love’s sweet choir, When I unto the dust I am have passed, Forget thy former wantonness, and cast Thy shadow o’er the dust of my desire. Flow, bitter tears, and wash me clean! for they Whose feet are set upon the road that lies ’Twixt Earth and Heaven: “Thou shalt be pure,” they say, “Before unto the pure thou lift thine eyes.” Seeing but himself, the Zealot sees but sin; Grief to the mirror of his soul let in, Oh Lord, and cloud it with the breath of sighs!

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.

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 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! 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.

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. And when she walks the flowery meadows through, Upon the jasmine’s shamèd cheek the dew Gathers like sweat, she is so fair to see! Ah, swerve not from the path of 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.

The margin of a stream, the willow’s shade, A mind inclined to song, a mistress sweet, A Cup-bearer whose cheek outshines the rose, A friend upon whose heart thy heart is laid: Oh Happy-starred! let not thine hours fleet Unvalued; may each minute as it goes Lay tribute of enjoyment at thy feet, That thou may’st live and know thy life is sweet. Let every one upon whose heart 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.

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.

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?

A city where kings are but lovers crowned, A land from the dust of which friendship springs— Who has laid waste that enchanted ground? What has befallen the city of kings? Years have passed since a ruby was won From the mine of manhood; they labour in vain, The fleet-footed wind and the quickening rain, And what has befallen the light of the sun? Hafiz, the secret of God’s dread task No man knoweth, in youth or prime Or in wisest age; of whom would’st thou ask: What has befallen the wheels of Time?

Where are the tidings of union? that I may arise— Forth from the dust I will rise up to welcome thee! My soul, like a homing bird, yearning for Paradise, Shall arise and soar, from the snares of the world set free. When the voice of thy love shall call me to be thy slave, I shall rise to a greater far than the mastery Of life and the living, time and the mortal span: Pour down, oh Lord! from the clouds of thy guiding grace, The rain of a mercy that quickeneth on my grave, Before, like dust that the wind bears from place to place, I arise and flee beyond the knowledge of man.

When to my grave thou turnest thy blessed feet, Wine and the lute thou shalt bring in thine hand to me, Thy voice shall ring through the folds of my winding-sheet, And I will arise and dance to thy minstrelsy. Though I be old, clasp me one night to thy breast, And I, when the dawn shall come to awaken me, With the flush of youth on my cheek from thy bosom will rise. Rise up! let mine eyes delight in thy stately grace! Thou art the goal to which all men’s endeavour has pressed, And thou the idol of Hafiz’ worship; thy face From the world and life shall bid him come forth and arise!