Ghazal 243

Your sweet scent — whoever heard it from the morning breeze

heard a familiar word from a familiar friend.

O king of beauty, cast your eye on the beggar's state,

for this ear has heard much of the tale of kings and beggars.

I gladly perfume the senses of my soul with musky wine,

for from the cloak-wearer of the cloister it heard the scent of hypocrisy.

The secret of God, which the mystic traveler told no one —

I wonder where the wine-seller heard it from.

O Lord, where is the confidant of secrets, that for one moment

the heart may tell what it said and what it heard.

My duty-honoring heart did not deserve this —

that from its comforter it heard unseemly words.

If I was deprived of the head of her lane, what of it? —

from the rosegarden of time, who ever heard the scent of fidelity?

Cupbearer, come — for love calls out loudly:

whoever told our tale, heard it too from us.

We are not today first drinking wine under the cloak —

a hundred times the elder of the tavern heard this story.

We are not today first drinking wine to the sound of the harp —

long since the dome of the sky heard this sound.

The counsel of the sage is pure rightness and goodness itself —

blessed is the one who heard it with the ear of acceptance.

Hafez, your task is only to say prayers —

do not be troubled whether it was heard or not.