Ghazal 431

I kiss her lip and draw in wine —

I have found the trail of the Water of Life.

I cannot tell her secret to anyone —

nor can I bear to see anyone with her.

The cup kisses her lip and drinks blood —

her cheek is seen and the rose breaks into sweat.

Give the cup of wine and do not speak of Jam —

for who knows who Jam was, and who was Kay?

Strike the harp behind the curtain, O moon-minstrel —

scratch its string that I may cry out from it.

The rose has brought its seat from the chamber to the garden —

fold up the carpet of piety like the bud.

Like her eye — do not leave the drunkard with a hangover —

in memory of her ruby, O cupbearer, give wine.

The soul does not seek separation from that body

in whose veins and tendons runs the blood of the cup.

Pull in your tongue, O Hafez, for a while —

hear the tale of the tongueless from the reed.