Ghazal 295

At dawn, drawn by the scent of the garden, I walked into the garden,

that like the heartless nightingale, I might treat my troubled mind.

I was gazing at the display of the red rose,

which in the dark night was bright as a lamp.

So proud of its own beauty and youth

that it had a thousand kinds of indifference to the nightingale's heart.

The elegant narcissus, from envy, dripping water from its eye —

the tulip, from passion, bearing a hundred brands on its heart and soul.

The lily stretched out its tongue like a sword in reproach —

the poppy opened its mouth like a provocateur.

One, like wine-worshippers, holding a flask in hand —

another, like a drunken cupbearer, gripping a cup.

Count joy and pleasure and youth as a prize, like the rose —

for, Hafez, the messenger has no duty beyond delivery.