Ghazal 418

If swords rain down in the lane of that moon —

we bow our necks: the judgment is God's.

We too know the manner of piety —

but what can be done with misguided fortune?

We recognize neither sheikh nor preacher —

either the cup of wine, or cut the story short.

I am a rend and a lover in the season of the rose —

repentance then? God forgive us.

Your love did not cast a reflection upon us —

O mirror-faced one! Alas for your heart — alas.

Patience is bitter and life is fleeting —

would that I knew: until when shall I see her?

Hafez, why do you lament? If you want union,

you must swallow blood in season and out.