Ghazal 388

Spring and the rose have become joy-stirring and repentance-breaking —

in joy of the rose's face, uproot grief from the heart.

The morning breeze arrived — the bud, in devotion,

came out of itself and tore its shirt upon itself.

Learn the way of truth from the pure water of the heart —

in straightness, seek freedom from the cypress of the garden.

From the breeze's raid, see the curls around the rose —

see the twists of the hyacinth's tresses upon the face of the jasmine.

The bride of the bud has come from the chamber under a lucky star —

indeed she steals heart and faith by the beauty of her face.

The whistle of the frenzied nightingale and the cry of the thousand-voiced bird

have come out from the House of Sorrows for union with the rose.

Tell the tale of the company of beauties and the cup of wine —

by the word of Hafez and the decree of the elder of the craft.