Ghazal 490

In all the Magian monastery there is no madman like me —

the cloak pawned in one place for wine, and the book in another.

The heart, which is the mirror of the king, has a dust upon it —

from God I seek the company of one of luminous mind.

I have repented at the hand of a wine-selling idol —

that again I will not drink wine without the face of a feast-adorner.

If the narcissus boasted of the manner of your eye, do not be vexed —

the people of vision do not follow a blind one.

The candle perhaps will bring this tale to tongue —

otherwise the moth has no care for speech.

I have bound streams from my eye to my hem — perhaps

they will seat beside me a slender-statured one.

Bring the ship of wine — for without the friend's face,

every corner of my eye has become a sea from the grief of the heart.

Do not speak of another to me, the beloved-worshipper —

for I have no care for anyone but her and the cup of wine.

How sweet this tale struck me — that at dawn was saying

at a tavern door, with drum and flute, a Christian:

If being a Muslim is what Hafez has —

alas, if after today there comes a tomorrow.