Ghazal 414

The rosebush of pleasure is blooming — where is the rose-cheeked cupbearer?

The spring breeze is blowing — where is the delicious wine?

Every new rose brings to mind a rose-faced one, but

where is the ear that will listen? Where is the eye of discernment?

The assembly of the feast of pleasure has no musk-perfume —

O fragrant breath of dawn, where is the musk-pod of the friend's tresses?

I cannot bear the rose's beauty-selling — O breeze —

I have stained my hand with heart's blood — for God's sake, where is the painter?

If the candle of dawn boasted of your cheek —

the enemy grew long-tongued — where is the sharp dagger?

She said: Do you not desire a kiss from my ruby lip? —

I died from this desire, but where is the power and choice?

Hafez, though in speech he is the keeper of the treasury of wisdom —

from the grief of base times, where is the nature that can speak?