Ghazal 400

My tall, coquettish, image-playing beloved

cut short the tale of my long piety.

Did you see, O heart, what at last my old age and piety and learning —

what my beloved-gazing eye did to me?

I fear the ruin of my faith — for

the prayer-niche of your brow steals the presence of my prayer.

I said: With the cloak of deceit I will cover the sign of love —

but my tears were a tale-bearer and made my secret plain.

The beloved is drunk and does not remember the companions —

blessings on her, my poor-one-nurturing cupbearer.

O Lord, when will that breeze blow, from whose scent

the nosegay of her generosity becomes the solver of my affairs?

I am tracing a design on water with my weeping, for now —

until when will my metaphor become joined with reality?

Upon myself, like a candle, laughing, I weep —

let us see what my burning and yearning will do to you, O stone-heart.

O ascetic — since your prayer accomplishes nothing —

then my nightly drunkenness and my secret prayers and supplications.

Hafez burned from weeping — O breeze, tell his state

to my friend-nurturing, enemy-destroying king.