Ghazal 285

In the reign of the sin-forgiving, fault-covering king,

Hafez became a flask-carrier and the mufti a cup-drinker.

The Sufi from the monastery corner, with the jug's foot, sat down —

when he saw the morality-guard carrying a jug on his shoulder.

The doings of the sheikh and the judge and their wine-drinking —

I asked about them at dawn from the old wine-seller.

He said: It is not a thing to be spoken, though you are an intimate —

pull in your tongue, keep the veil, and drink wine.

O cupbearer, spring is coming and there is no money for wine —

think of something, for the heart's blood has boiled from grief.

It is love and poverty and youth and springtime —

accept my excuse and cover my sin with the hem of generosity.

How long, like a candle, will you wag your tongue?

The decree of desire has arrived — O lover, be silent.

O king of form and meaning, the like of whom

no eye has seen and no ear has heard.

May you remain until your young fortune accepts the blue cloak

from the old, ragged sky.