Poems from the Divan of Hafiz
What drunkenness is this that brings me hope— Who was the Cup-bearer, and whence the wine? That minstrel singing with full voice divine, What lay was his? for ’mid the woven rope Of song, he brought word from my Friend to me Set to his melody.
The wind itself bore joy to Solomon; The Lapwing flew from Sheba’s garden close, Bringing good tidings of its queen and rose. Take thou the cup and go where meadows span The plain, whither the bird with tuneful throat Has brought Spring’s sweeter note.
Welcome, oh rose, and full-blown eglantine! The violets their scented gladness fling, Jasmin breathes purity—art sorrowing Like an unopened bud, oh heart of mine? The wind of dawn that sets closed blossoms free Brings its warm airs to thee.
Saki, thy kiss shall still my bitter cry! Lift up your grief-bowed heads, all ye that weep, The Healer brings joy’s wine-cup—oh, drink deep! Disciple of the Tavern-priest am I; The pious Sheikh may promise future bliss, He brings me where joy is.
The greedy glances of a Tartar horde To me seemed kind—my foeman spared me not Though one poor robe was all that I had got. But Heaven served Hafiz, as a slave his lord, And when he fled through regions desolate, Heaven brought him to thy gate.