Ghazal 374

Come, let us scatter roses and pour wine into the goblet —

let us cleave the sky's ceiling and cast a new design.

If grief raises an army to spill the lovers' blood,

I and the cupbearer will charge together and destroy its foundation.

Let us pour rosewater into the cup of crimson wine —

let us cast sugar into the censer for the perfume-turning breeze.

Since there is a fine instrument in hand — strike a fine tune, minstrel —

that we may sing ghazals, scattering our hands, and stamp our feet, tossing our heads.

O breeze, cast the dust of our being to that exalted court —

perhaps we may cast the gaze of that king of beauties upon our vantage.

One boasts of reason, another weaves pretensions —

come, let us cast these disputes before the Judge.

If you want the Eden of paradise, come with us to the tavern —

for from the foot of the wine-barrel, one day we will cast you into the Pool of Kawthar.

Eloquence and sweet-singing are not practiced in Shiraz —

come, Hafez, let us cast ourselves into another realm.