Ghazal 254

Once more from the branch of the tall cypress, the patient nightingale

sang out: May the evil eye be far from the face of the rose!

O rose, in gratitude that you are the sovereign of beauty,

do not be proud with the heartless, lovestruck nightingales.

I do not complain of the pain of your absence —

until there is absence, there is no pleasure of presence.

If others are joyful and glad in pleasure and merriment,

for us, the grief of the beloved is the source of joy.

The ascetic may hope for houris and palaces —

for us, the wine-house is our palace, and the beloved our houri.

Drink wine to the sound of the harp, and grieve not — and if someone

tells you not to drink, say: He is the All-Forgiving.

Hafez, why do you complain of the grief of separation?

In separation lies union, and in darkness there is light.