Part 2
A little listen to me, pray-- Advice from age to youth is meet-- Should any bond o’er you hold sway Be sure it is made of roses, Sweet!
Oh! you weave well your pearls of song, Good Hafiz! May earth treasure you. May Pleiades who gleaming throng Weave golden gowns to pleasure you!
* * * * *
Tavern Keeper, lo!--the moonrise on the fast of Ramazan! Quick the cup here! For denial I’ll make up as best I can.
Precious days--alas!--are wasted! Now make up, I say, make up, For the torturing time that’s vanished without joy, without the cup.
How can I burn on forever in repentance and grief’s fire? Wine! Bring wine! Now let life burn on in the gold flame of desire.
Drunken make me, senseless, senseless,--that I may not ever know From this picture-book of life here who has gone, who soon must go.
That the dregs within thy wine cup on my lips may keep their sweet, In the Tavern morn and evening I pray for thee as is meet.
Tavern Keeper, lo!--the moonrise--on the fast of Ramazan! Let the wine scent in my nostrils give me life again, good man!
Hypocrites are haughty hearted and their ways are full of sin, But the pious drinker sometime place in Paradise will win.
All the coined gold my heart held did I give to purchase wine; Wrong,--alas!--’twas--I regret it--all that wayward youth of mine.
Nay! Nay! Hafiz sits not under any preachment’s painful word; He will never find the true path who from it has never erred.
* * * * *
Oh Pious Zealot, why, prithee, Dost pray and point to Paradise! It was for this world God made me, And shut the other from my eyes!
Who never for God soweth seed, However years may wax and wane, No flower may gather from the mead, And from the fertile field no grain.
Devout am I across the wine, Christian and Mussulman can praise-- Faith’s giant bulwark is thy fine Conceited boast in canting phrase.
God blew in earth dust making me, Such lusty life, such joy of days, That all thy threats can not, Sufi, Keep me from nature’s chosen ways.
Nor Sufi will in Heaven shine Who never has his cowl like me, Pledged at The Tavern door for wine, The better Faith’s pathway to see.
The Houris love not any man Who Beauty’s veil dares not to raise, And without love pray tell me can The Heaven equal earthly ways?
Oh Hafiz! great is God’s good grace, Of nothing cherish fear therefore, Lift henceforth to his holy place Thy hopes of happiness the more.
* * * * *
God and I, and a good heart yet! Nay! none think it as of yore Since I became gossip’s target In The Tavern more and more.
Poor old ragged robe! Deride it Some do saying that it’s worn For wine’s sake, within to hide it, Since without it I’m forlorn.
Be not puffed up nor pride lusty, Scholars! That shows little wit. What we were and are and must be In Fate’s book has long been writ.
Colors dazzle, scents ensnare us, Seize the glass and swing it high! For Life’s Banquet it prepares us. Sorrow--see!--is slipping by.
True, Good Heart, the eye should guide thee Ever lest a danger lower; When its drunk--then ill betide thee For the eye hath lost its power.
Strive to reach some rich ambition, Merit brings reward alone; Good delayed feeds not fruition, For delay naught can atone.
Hafiz, let not poets measure Thy gold hearted ecstacy; Back to earth throw not thy treasure, Nor thy pearls into the sea.
* * * * *
Now, Singer, a song that is fresh forsooth! (Roses for Springtime and youth for youth!) Oh! I would drink wine that is sweet to the tooth! (Roses for Springtime and youth for youth!)
Oh! naught can for life that is loveless atone, By my little sweetheart I will sit all alone; Of kisses I’ll rob her without any ruth-- (Roses for Springtime and youth for youth!)
Oh! when you are old and your heart has grown sad, Not even young wine can again make it glad, Of wine then and life make the best forsooth! (Roses for Springtime and youth for youth!)
Thou Giver of Good Wine, pray, by me not pass. Just so long as I’m young I will hold up the glass, Foam it rich at the brim. I am thirsty forsooth. (Roses for Springtime and youth for youth!)
Look at that child there--gay thief of my heart! See how flower-decked she is, sweet with what art, Cunning enchantress of life forsooth! (Roses for Springtime and youth for youth!)
Zephyr, by chance shouldst my dove-cote find, Whence peer two eyes that the world can make blind, Say: Hafiz’ heart’s in thy hand in truth! (Roses for Springtime and youth for youth!)
* * * * *
In The Market where the gamesters Sit and drink the drums are loud; _Oyez!_--all ye who are quartered Cavalierly with Love’s crowd!
Just a day or two ago ’twas That the Vine’s wild laughter fled; Help to find her! Gamesters! Lovers! Too long has she rioted.
You will know her when you see her, Gemmed with rubies is her gown, Pearls from Pleasure’s foaming ocean Clasp her forehead like a crown.
_Oyez!_--Gamesters! Lovers! Find her! She’s so perilous, so fair, She robs men of mind and senses, Search well for her--but--beware!
Whoe’er brings her back--the wanton,-- On him I’ll spend my soul’s sweet. In Hell should he find her hiding I will kneel there at her feet.
Somewhere in the black night is she-- Rosy sprite from Pleasure’s Mart-- Find her! Not again she’ll wander, She shall dwell in Hafiz’ heart.
* * * * *
Two and seventy sects are fighting-- Let them! It may ease their ire! Who Delusion’s Doors are lighting May not ever find Truth’s fire.
For the true fire is not that one Of the flickering candle’s breath; Nay--the true fire is the Love-Sun That the night-moth drives to death.
Hafiz, all the world confesses None have so Thought’s veil up-thrown, Since the Word Bride’s curly tresses Poets learned to dress and comb.
* * * * *
Scold not, Zahid, pious zealot That we love and sing and drink, Surely sins of others will not In your book be writ, we think!
If I’m good, if evil rather-- Mind your own affairs, Good Friend, Everyone the fruit must gather That he sows when comes the end.
You can never be quite certain That I’m shut from Heaven’s book; Did you ever through a curtain See how people’s faces look?
Whether you drink or do not drink, Everyone a friend will search, And love find there where you least think, In mosque, synagogue and church.
Surely I lift not the first, Sir, To forbidden fruit my eyes, For this God sent my ancestor From the fields of Paradise.
Sleep is sweet on Eden’s pillows, But I warn you to be wise And the shadows of our willows Here in Shiraz learn to prize.
Upon Fortune’s favors build not, Can it matter what you do? On the first day was your fate wrought And your future written through.
Hafiz, whene’er death shall call you, If your hand should hold the cup, From this Wine House they will take you Where the wise men laugh and sup.
* * * * *
In my merry mood of drinking Pray how fared your preachment, how? How from dark ways labyrinthine Did I find an exit, how?
How has wine’s ecstatic splendor Aught to do with timid saints? From hid bowers do you remember Hearing songs with preachers’ plaints?
My heart shuns the cloistral silence, Hooded cowl, hypocrisy, How can I best bid defiance With this wine-born ecstacy?
Days of joy--they go and leave me Lone and sad with dreams of yore; Kisses where--caresses? Tell me! And all such old love’s sweet store?
What use that love softly handles Hearts that hatred hard has made? Oh! Joy’s gay extinguished candles-- In what grave, pray, are they laid?
Once the dust from off your threshold Was like balsam to my eyes, Now pray tell me--now I’m grown old-- Where an equal pleasure lies?
* * * * *
By the apple of your chin there Love’s bright fountain winked at me. Oh! my sad heart--now--where--where-- From memory’s tumultuous sea?
Nevermore except from Hafiz Any peace to know or keep, No, no! Not that way his path is-- Until sleep be long and deep.
* * * * *
Before my soul’s serene visage The dust of earth a veil has spread. Oh! just once let me lift it up And glimpse the glory overhead!
Whence I have come, or how, or why, Has never been made clear to me, I am ashamed so ignorant Of my own life’s affairs to be.
I’d gladly wander pilgrim-wise Across the space of earth outspread, With nightingales strive wing by wing O’er gardens where the rose is red.
Shall I who dreamed a life whose stage The austere forms of angels throng, Believe this low abode of hate Can be the home where I belong?
Look not upon the gold-wrought band That richly hems this robe of mine, Far royaller within my heart I’ve taught the torch of love to shine.
Take back again thy singer’s life-- Or good or bad, or true or sham-- Since I gave over all to thee Who has heard Hafiz say: _“I am!_”
* * * * *
Tears, tears, wild tears, rend not I pray This shining grief-wrought veil of mine! I would not like old love tales bare My secret for all to divine.
Patience can make--so peasants say-- Red rubies of the pebble stone; Ah yes! Ah yes!--and well it may If heart blood lend the rosy tone.
My rival’s proud presumptuous air Confuses me--surprises--quite, How could such a poor needy wretch Grasp this caprice’s splendid height!
You carry, Sweet, your head too high, My Cypress proud, my Royal One! Too short my arm, you say? You fear ’Twill not unto your girdle come?
Why, Sweet, through your love’s alchemy This cheek of mine is no more old, And your two sun-bright eyes have power To turn my poor dust into gold.
Yet beauty without grace of heart, Howe’er so great its red lipped charm, Can satisfy not senses fine Of him who’s wise, nor work him harm.
Oh! soul of mine shouldst tell to her Of that wild, wayward youth now gone, Frame words so fine, so cunningly Not even the wind can bear them on.
When sorrow comes, be firm and calm, Look up with hope, be not bowed low, And thank God for the trial sent, Or else from bad to worse ’twill go.
Be patient, sad, sad heart of mine, From sorrow joy is sure to come; The night is transformed into day And each dawn has a rising sun.
If you should visit Hafiz’ grave, Unto his night your day bring, Sweet, He’d burst the bonds of death in twain And kneel to kiss again your feet.
* * * * *
Since now from the heart of night the rose Leaps like a flame to light the lea, And humble hearted violet shows Her hidden head so modestly,
Do thou drink deep of the daylight wine, ’Mid tinkling harps, soft flutes that sigh, Drink deep of the fiery kiss divine Of Beauty’s youth ere it pass by.
Drink deep of the fleeting red-rose time ’Mid joy of love and dance and song, Brief, brief. Dear Heart, is the rose’s prime, Nor ours--alas!--is over long.
Gold starred is the earth’s broad breast with flowers, With gold flowers starred likewise the sky; I’ll haste me away where bend the bowers And there fair fortune prophesy.
Back, back, now our old fire altars bring! Lo! here is Zoroaster’s God! Daily Nimrod’s petaled fire will spring From tulip cups that pierce the sod.
Wine by Beauty’s hand now outpoured should Up-raise the dead with a prophet’s might; Pray of Ad think not, nor of Themud Whom God gave into grief and night.
Red of the rose and the lily’s snow Make Earth an Eden, fleeting, fair-- Alas! ’tis soon of the long ago With spring’s blue skies and vagrant air.
Down the wind even now lo! rides the rose, Royal as Solomon, king of old; David’s song rapture richly flows From nightingale’s voices of gold.
A health to Mahmud, Great Persia’s sun, Firm pillar of the faith is he, The new Asef of Solomon-- May grief bend not his brows blackly!
Now naught Hafiz can ere fail thee O’ershadowed by his mighty name, To God pray that thou mayest not see An end unto his noble reign.
* * * * *
Of that dear day when first we met--Oh! Heart’s Delight,-- Sometimes--pray--think! Of that dear day fading so soft to night-- Sometimes--pray--think!
Oh, bitterer than gall is grief, crueller its sway; Of the wild, wild joy of love’s old holiday Sometimes--pray--think!
As others have--I know--you have forgot me too, But that, Dear Heart, I broke all ties, all bonds for you-- Sometimes--pray--think!
And though a prisoner now by sad misfortune bound, That graven upon my heart your dear, dear name is found-- Sometimes--pray--think!
I am dissolved in tears. I can do naught but sigh; Of Ispahan--and streams that sang so sweetly by-- Sometimes--pray--think!
And though with grief your heart like mine be broken too, Of all the old love-days that we together knew-- Sometimes--pray--think!
Be locked forever now, Hafiz, the sad heart’s door; And yet of her--of her you loved so well of yore-- Sometimes--pray--think!
* * * * *
Come, Tavern Keeper, fill the glass! Our merry friends must thirsty be, The love that warmed my heart--alas!-- Has fled and of joy beggared me.
How shook my trembling soul with fear When rose scents drifted down the wind, From her rich hair blown all too near, The fragrant east wind’s message kind.
The prayer rug now with wine is red, And red likewise our host with joy, A Tavern Keeper wise ’tis said Of whom truth comes without alloy.
In love can there be any peace When tinkle in the ears of man The camel bells with no surcease?-- “Make haste! Now starts the caravan!”
And what know they of night’s black heart, Of raging seas, the whirlwind’s roar, Who free and careless walk apart Upon the safe and sandy shore?
What with heart-blood from Fate I’ve wrung Report has blackened oft for me With bitter gossip’s greedy tongue-- The masses know not secrecy.
Oh! Hafiz, follow thine own star And snap unto the world thy thumb, Wouldst thou not keep thy love a-far And thine own healthy speech make dumb.
* * * * *
When the evening call to prayer rings From strange mosques I do not know, I sob out fond foolish sayings, Homesick, babble of my woe.
Then the memory, Love, of thy face Such a flood of grief sets free, I could swim across the world space, On my tears become a sea!
Since in this strange land though friendly Not an exile I remain, Send me back again, Almighty, Back to dear Shiraz again!
Lo! dust-humbled thus I’m praying: “Let me see again, Just God, On my home the green vines swaying, And the dear familiar sod!”
How can I to thinkers count, pray, As a grey beard old and wise, Since I still with love and youth play For the same sweet foolish prize?
Here but north and east wind know me, Unknown otherwise am I, None say “_Greetings!_” since none know me Save that wanton wind a-fly.
* * * * *
From my love’s far dwelling to me Perfume comes like the call of morn, East Wind, pray a breath waft to me That ’mid Shiraz flowers was born!
I must tell you--Oh!--shame on it-- That my own tears me betray In eye corners bold. Shame on it! Since my little love’s away.
From Sohre whose twirling harp is Sweetest of the heavenly throng, Came this word: I learned from Hafiz All I know of art and song.
* * * * *
Within the mystic mosque there prays None like to me or far or near, For red wine have I pledged always My books now there, my cowl now here.
My heart which God his mirror made Is dimmed and tarnished o’er with dust; To find the path from which I’ve strayed, Oh send some guide whom I may trust!
On my old ragged robe remain The tears which never cease to flow; Come back, Dear Heart! Come back again! I plead thus in my passion’s glow.
Go bring me now the ship of wine, Since on love’s long and luckless way Within my eye corners a-shine There grows Grief’s ocean day by day.
Of Beauty let be all my thought, Of other things keep silence, pray, Beauty I love--youth--beside naught-- Except wine--wine, which well I may!
Once long ago when flutes were high At dawn unto a tavern door A handsome Christian lad drew nigh And sang as none have sung before:
If Moslem men are like to thee, Hafiz, and love and drink and sing, Then woe betide them should there be Atonement and a reckoning.
* * * * *
I am thirsty for thine eyes, Love, Hast thou no message for me, That thy sun-born, paradise-dove From the earth may be set free?
Love, I’m thirsty for thy sweet face! If for it, Lord, I may live, Both earth’s birthrights--time and space-- Back into thy hands I’ll give.
Let some glad cloud, golden-hearted, Point the way of truth to me, Ere--poor dust clod--I’ve departed For some sad eternity.
Shouldst thou seek my low grave, Dear One, Bring with thee both wine and song, Let thy lips but whisper--“Come, come!” Cold death can not hold me long.
Once again as in the old nights, Clasp me close within thine arms, Once again as in the old nights, There I fear not doom’s alarms.
Let the dances’ trodden measure Show thy naked youth’s slim grace-- Quick! Quick!--Grant Hafiz this pleasure Ere he vanish back to space.
* * * * *
When The Tavern Keeper gives you a glass winking at the brim, The circle of the angels you may enter then with him.
Scold not, Sufi! Nay, nay--scold not! Love’s message will be made clear Surely by some wine-inspired one when the Day of Judgment’s here.
Bring wine, Tavern-Keeper, glowing, musk-scented, and smooth to taste! Precious hours with the Philistines we are all too prone to waste.
Has he any right to live on, who delays from day to day? Nay, nay! A plague upon him who will not be happy when he may;
Yet I promise you that Hafiz would shun shores of Paradise If a place to pray you’d grant him beneath the altar of your eyes.
* * * * *
From The Book of Noble Living I would read a verse to thee, Preferably of faith and kindness since they strangely pleasure me.
May he who aims an arrow at thy heart find for his hate A treasure house there stored with the richest gold by Fate.
And should envious ones wound thee throwing stones as vagrants do, At their feet like to the fruit tree all thy ripened riches strew.
Should they unto death pursue thee, as the mollusk then pray be, On his head who deals the death stroke shed thy pearls down plentifully.
* * * * *
When the merry wine-sun rising in the cup begins to glow, The cheeks of our Tavern Keeper all their tulip flowers show.
Then the amorous West Wind roughens Rose’s hyacinthine hair, Because fields and meadows told him how fragrant she was and fair.
From this humble earthly table do you hope Oh! nevermore To receive bread unless for it your heart’s blood you should outpour.
All laments o’er loss and loving sound alike to age and youth, Yet a hundred books, I dare say, could not tell you all their truth.
If like Noah you brave the deluge, triumph o’er it, live it through, Earth’s immortal joy of living will come back to dwell with you.
To the pearl of price your efforts never can find out the way; To keep trying without favor is with folly long to stay.
If the East wind of thy favor should but once touch Hafiz’ grave, His poor dust would rise in reverence and to thee a greeting wave.
* * * * *
Whoso hasheesh--the green sweet grain-- Does eat, howe’er so small the part, Sets thirty joyous nightingales To making music in his heart.
An atom of the sweet green grain Sets suns a-blaze in Sufi’s eyes, And makes thy songs ecstatic strain Like Simurgs--bird of Paradise.
AT THE GRAVE OF HIS SON
The Spring has come! The roses wake from sleep! My long lost Rose, why shouldst thou slumber keep? I’ll weep and weep like to that radiant cloud, That with the flowers thou too mayst lift the shroud.
* * * * *
Whate’er fate God’s given, take it! Changeless is it. Naught can shake it. If humble, always ’twill be so, Past you all things great you’ll see go; If Fate’s web is black like night Not Mecca’s fount will wash it white.
* * * * *
Who’s never sown the seeds of love, Nor rose’s red lips tasted, Bends sadly tulip beds above Which angry storms have wasted.
* * * * *
Great God, to whom in vain no one does pray, Creator, Keeper of my earthly day, Avails it aught that I confess my sin When nothing from Thy Eyes has hidden been?
* * * * *
See how on the cheeks of the tulip The dews of morning shine! Boy, bring me the wine of joy now, Quick! Quick! the morning wine!
A throne has been built out of emeralds, Upon it sits a rose-- Boy, bring me wine that is fiery Wherein a ruby glows!
See!--the doors of Heaven are open, It was from there this fragrance came, From there soon will come my sweetheart, Unveiled and without shame.
* * * * *
Dust upon my sweetheart’s threshold To me brighter glows by far, Than the gold-embroidered carpets Where the sultan’s favorites are.
If the wind but bears the dust by Whereon her foot’s paused to rest, Sweeter ’tis than pinks or violets Or the oil from roses pressed.
* * * * *
Oh! kiss well and drink well, For cruel is Fate, Soon tolleth Time’s bell: Too late! Too late!
* * * * *
The Eye of Mighty Love cares not Just how we pray nor in what spot,
In mosque or synagogue or church, At last life leaves us in the lurch.
* * * * *
Thy face bathe well in water, But thy tongue bathe well in wine, For thy tongue’s the royal herald Of the truth which is divine.
* * * * *
Praise God, the wine door’s open, Men! I’m off on the old path again!
True spirit fire the wine-jars frame, (Fools take symbolically the same!)
I take as tastes. Hafiz divine, None know thee save when candles shine!