Ghazal 390

The crown of the sultan of the rose appeared from the edge of the garden —

may its arrival be blessed, O Lord, upon the cypress and jasmine.

This royal seat was well in its own place —

now let each one sit in their own place.

Give glad tidings to the ring of Jam of the beauty of your seal —

for the Greatest Name shortened the hand of the demon from it.

May this house be prosperous till eternity — for from the dust of its door,

every breath with the scent of the Merciful, the breeze of Yemen blows.

The splendor of the son of Pashang and his world-conquering sword

have become the tale of assemblies in all the books of kings.

The piebald steed of your polo became tame beneath the saddle —

O royal rider, since you have come to the field, strike the ball.

The brook of the kingdom flows with the water of your sword —

you plant the tree of justice and uproot the ill-wishers.

After this, it is no wonder if from the fragrance of your sweet nature,

a musk-pod of Khutan arises from the plains of Idhaj.

The recluses await a fine display —

tilt the edge of your cap and cast the veil from your face.

I consulted with reason — it said: Hafez, drink wine —

O cupbearer, give wine by the word of the trusted counselor.

O breeze, present this to the cupbearer of the feast of the Atabeg —

that from that gold-scattering cup he may grant a sip to me.