Ghazal 234

When the sun of wine rises from the east of the cup,

a thousand tulips bloom from the garden of the cupbearer's cheek.

The breeze breaks the hyacinth's curls upon the rose's head

when from the garden's midst the scent of those ringlets rises.

The tale of the night of separation is not such a tale

that even a trace of its description could be told in a hundred treatises.

From the inverted table of the sky one cannot hope

that a single morsel comes without the weariness of a hundred griefs.

By one's own effort the pearl of desire cannot be reached —

it is a fancy that this work could come without referral.

If you have the patience of Noah the prophet in the grief of the flood,

calamity will pass, and the desire of a thousand years will come.

When the breeze of your tresses passes over the grave of Hafez,

from the dust of his body a hundred thousand tulips will rise.