Ghazal 149

My heart will take no path but the love of moon-faced ones —

from every door I offer it counsel, yet it takes none in.

For God's sake, O advice-giver, speak of the cup and wine,

for no image settles in our mind more pleasant than this.

Come, O rose-cheeked cupbearer, bring the deep-colored wine,

for no thought takes hold within us better than this.

I drink from the flask in secret, and people think it a book —

strange if the fire of this fraud does not catch in the book!

This patched cloak of mine I will burn someday,

for the old wine-seller won't accept it for even a cup.

The reason the friends find such purity in her ruby wine

is that no image but honesty takes hold in that jewel.

Such a captivating face and eye — and you say: Turn your gaze away?

Go — this meaningless sermon does not take hold in my head.

The one who advises the rends — which is a war against fate —

I see his heart is so narrow, perhaps he does not take a cup.

In the midst of weeping I laugh, for like a candle in this gathering

I have a fiery tongue, yet it does not catch.

How beautifully you hunted my heart! I praise your drunken eye —

no one catches wild birds more sweetly than this.

The talk is of our need and the beloved's indifference —

what use is sorcery, O heart, when it does not work on the beloved?

I will one day obtain that mirror, Alexander-like —

whether this fire catches for a time, or does not catch.

For God's sake, have mercy, O generous one — for the dervish at your lane

knows no other door, takes no other path.

With such sweet, flowing verse, I wonder at the king of kings —

why does he not cover Hafez from head to foot in gold?