Ghazal 219

Now that in the garden the rose has come from non-being into being,

the violet has laid its head in prostration at its feet.

Drink the morning cup to the cry of drum and harp —

kiss the cupbearer's double-chin to the melody of flute and lute.

In the season of the rose, do not sit without wine, beauty, and harp,

for like the Day of Eternity, this week is numbered.

The earth became bright as the sky from the emergence of the sweet herbs —

by the auspicious star and the fortunate ascendant.

From the hand of a Jesus-breathed, delicate-cheeked beauty

drink wine, and let go of the tale of Ad and Thamud.

The world has become like highest Paradise in the season of lily and rose —

but what use, when permanence within it is not possible.

When the rose mounts the air like Solomon,

at dawn, when the bird enters singing David's melody —

in the garden, renew the rites of Zoroaster's faith,

now that the tulip has lit the fire of Nimrod.

Ask for the morning cup in memory of the Asaf of the age —

the vizier of Solomon's realm, Imad al-Din Mahmud.

May it be that the gathering of Hafez, by the blessing of his nurture,

shall find all that it seeks, present in abundance.