Ghazal 111

When the reflection of your face fell in the mirror of the cup,

the mystic, from the wine's laughter, fell into raw desire.

Your beauty, with one flash displayed in the mirror,

cast all these images into the mirror of illusions.

All this reflection of wine and these painted forms that appeared —

it is one gleam from the cupbearer's face that fell into the cup.

The jealousy of love cut the tongues of all the elect —

from where did the secret of its grief fall into the mouths of the common?

I did not fall from the mosque to the tavern of my own accord —

this was my lot, from pre-eternity, the final outcome.

What can one do but follow the turning, like a compass?

Anyone who falls into the circle of revolving days must turn.

In the curve of your tresses my heart hung from the pit of your chin —

alas, it escaped the well only to fall into the snare.

Gone are the days, O master, when you'd find me in the cloister —

our affair has fallen to the cupbearer's face and the lip of the cup.

Beneath the sword of her grief one must go dancing,

for whoever was slain by her found a good end.

Each moment she shows this burnt-hearted one a different kindness —

see this beggar, how worthy of reward he has become!

The Sufis are all drinking partners and glance-players, but

among them all, only the burnt-hearted Hafez fell into ill repute.