Ghazal 64

Though to display one’s art before the beloved is discourtesy,

the tongue is silent, yet the mouth is full of eloquence.

The angel hides her face while the demon shows off beauty —

the eye burns with wonder: what kind of marvel is this?

No one picked a thornless rose in this garden — indeed,

the lamp of Muhammad is paired with the sparks of Abu Lahab.

Do not ask why the heavens nurture the base,

for its granting of desire is mere pretext without cause.

I would not buy the arch of cloister or inn for half a barleycorn —

I whose tavern bench is my porch, and the base of the wine-cask my tent-peg.

The beauty of the daughter of the vine is the light of our eyes — perhaps,

for she is behind a glass veil and a curtain of grapes.

I had a thousand wisdoms and courtesies, O master —

now that I am drunk and ruined, the wise course is discourtesy.

Bring wine — for like Hafez, my thousand-fold confidence

rests on the weeping of dawn and the supplication at midnight.