Ghazal 345

Without you, O flowing cypress — what shall I do with the rose and the garden?

Why should I draw the hyacinth's tresses? What shall I do with the lily's cheek?

Alas — from the taunt of the ill-wisher I did not see your face —

my face is not made of iron like a mirror — what shall I do?

Go, O advisor, and do not find fault with the dregs-drinkers —

the Commander of destiny does this — what shall I do?

When the lightning of jealousy leaps so from the ambush of the unseen,

you tell me — I whose harvest is burned — what shall I do?

The king of the Turks approved of me and cast me in a well —

if the kindness of Rostam does not take my hand — what shall I do?

If the fire of Sinai gives no aid to a lamp,

what remedy for the dark night of the Valley of Safety shall I find?

Hafez — highest paradise is my inherited home —

what shall I do, dwelling in this ruined way-station?