Ghazal 341

If I worry about the reproach of pretenders,

the manner of drunkenness and revelry will not leave me.

The piety of newly-taught rends leads to some village —

I, who am the ill-famed of the world, what reform shall I think of?

Call me the king of the distracted ones, me the disordered —

for in lack of sense I surpass all the world.

On your brow, paint a mole from the blood of my heart —

so they will know I am the sacrifice of your infidel faith.

Show a little faith and pass on, for God's sake —

lest under this cloak you learn what a poor dervish I am.

O wind, carry my blood-raining verse to that beloved —

who from dark eyelashes struck a sting on the vein of my soul.

Whether I drink wine or not, what business is it of anyone? —

I am Hafez, keeper of my own secret, and the knower of my own time.