Ghazal 333

When evening prayer begins, like the weeping of a stranger,

I begin with exotic lamentations to tell my tale.

In memory of friend and homeland, I weep so bitterly

that I abolish from the world the road and custom of travel.

I am from the homeland of the beloved, not from a foreign land —

O Protector, return me to my own companions.

For God's sake, give me aid, O companion of the road,

that in the tavern lane I may raise my banner once more.

When will reason take account of my aging? —

for again I am playing love with a childlike idol.

No one knows me except the south and north wind —

my dear one! — for no one is my intimate except the wind.

The air of the beloved's dwelling is our Water of Life —

O breeze, bring me a fragrance from the dust of my Shiraz.

My tears came and told my faults face to face —

of whom shall I complain? My tale-bearer is one of my own household.

From the harp of Venus I heard her say at dawn:

I am the slave of Hafez, the sweet-tongued, sweet-voiced.