Ghazal 460

Since Sulaima settled in Iraq,

I suffer from her absence what I suffer.

O caravanner, toward the friend's dwelling —

to your riders, my longing has grown long.

Cast reason into the Living River and drink wine —

to the rose-song of the youths of Iraq.

The springtime of life is in the pasture of your sanctuary —

God protect you, O covenant of meeting.

Come, cupbearer, give me a heavy cup —

may God give you to drink from a brimming goblet.

Youth brings back to my memory

the music of the harp and the hand-waving of the cupbearer.

Give the remaining wine, that drunk and happy,

I may scatter my remaining life upon the friends.

My heart has become blood from not seeing the friend —

curse the days of separation.

Do not belittle my tears after you —

for how many a deep sea comes from streams.

For a moment, be in accord with your well-wishers —

count the matters of harmony as a prize.

Play, O sweet-singing, sweet-speaking minstrel —

in Persian verse, the melody of Iraq.

A very lovely bride is the daughter of the vine —

but sometimes she deserves divorce.

It befits the solitary Christ

that he make his dwelling with the sun.

Union with friends is not our portion —

read, O Hafez, the ghazals of separation.