Ghazal 407

I saw the green field of the sky and the sickle of the new moon —

I remembered my own sowing and the time of harvest.

I said: O fortune, you were asleep and the sun has risen —

it said: With all this, do not despair of what was predestined.

If you go pure and detached like Christ to the sky,

from your lamp a hundred rays will reach the sun.

Do not rely upon the night-thieving star, for this rogue

stole the crown of Kavus and the belt of Kaykhosrow.

Though the earring of gold and ruby weighs heavy on the ear —

the time of beauty passes — heed the counsel.

Far be the evil eye from your mole — for in the field of beauty

it advanced a pawn that won the wager from the moon and sun.

Tell the sky: Do not sell this grandeur — for in love,

the harvest of the moon is worth a barley-grain, the cluster of the Pleiades worth two.

The fire of piety and hypocrisy will burn the harvest of faith —

Hafez, cast off this woolen cloak and go.