Ghazal 421

The door of the Magians' hall had been swept and water-sprinkled —

the elder was seated and had called out to young and old.

The jug-bearers had all girded themselves in his service —

but from pride, their caps had raised a parasol in the clouds.

The radiance of cup and goblet had veiled the moonlight —

the cheeks of the Magian youths had blocked the sun's path.

The bride of fortune in that chamber, with a thousand coquetries,

had broken the kohl-stick and sprinkled rosewater on the rose-petal.

The angel of mercy had taken the goblet of pleasure

and from its sip had sprinkled rosewater on the cheeks of houris and fairies.

From the tumult and revelry of the sweet-working beauties,

sugar was broken, jasmine scattered, the lute was struck.

I gave my greeting, and with a smiling face he said:

O you hangover-bearing, penniless, wine-stricken one —

who does what you have done with such weakness of resolve and judgment?

You left the treasury and pitched your tent on ruins.

I fear that the union of wakeful fortune will not be granted to you —

for you have slept in the embrace of sleep-stricken fate.

Come to the tavern, Hafez, that I may present to you

a thousand ranks of answered prayers.

The sky is the led-horse of King Nasir al-Din —

come see: the angel has placed his hand in the stirrup.

Reason, which is the inspirer of the unseen, for the sake of honor,

from the roof of the Throne has kissed his threshold a hundred times.