Ghazal 471

From my beloved, who will bring the caress of a letter? —

Where is the courier of the breeze, if it would show generosity?

I measured, and the plan of reason on the road of love

is like a dewdrop drawing a line upon the sea.

Come — for though my cloak is pawned at the taverns,

from the endowed property you will not see a coin in my name.

The talk of how and why gives a headache, O heart —

take the cup and rest from your life for a moment.

The roadside physician does not know the pain of love —

go, O dead-heart, and find one with the breath of Christ.

My heart grew weary of hypocrisy and the hidden drum —

I have vowed to raise a banner at the tavern's door.

Come — for the time-knowers sell both worlds

for one cup of pure wine and the company of a beauty.

The permanence of pleasure and luxury is not the way of love —

if you are our companion, drink the sting of grief.

I do not complain — but the cloud of the friend's mercy

did not give a drop to the planting-field of the liver-thirsty.

Why do they not buy for one sugar-cane that one

who scattered a hundred sugars from the reed of the pen?

Worthy of your rank, O king, Hafez has nothing —

except a prayer at night and a supplication at dawn.