Poems from the Divan of Hafiz 40

The margin of a stream, the willow’s shade, A mind inclined to song, a mistress sweet, A Cup-bearer whose cheek outshines the rose, A friend upon whose heart thy heart is laid: Oh Happy-starred! let not thine hours fleet Unvalued; may each minute as it goes Lay tribute of enjoyment at thy feet, That thou may’st live and know thy life is sweet.

Let every one upon whose heart desire For a fair face lies like a burden sore, That all his hopes may reach their goal unchecked, Throw branches of wild rue upon his fire. My soul is like a bride, with a rich store Of maiden thoughts and jewelled fancies decked, And in Time’s gallery I yet may meet Some picture meant for me, some image sweet.

Give thanks for nights spent in good company, And take the gifts a tranquil mind may bring; No heart is dark when the kind moon doth shine, And grass-grown river-banks are fair to see. The Saki’s radiant eyes, God favouring, Are like a wine-cup brimming o’er with wine, And him my drunken sense goes out to greet, For e’en the pain he leaves behind is sweet.

Hafiz, thy life has sped untouched by care, With me towards the tavern turn thy feet! The fairest robbers thou’lt encounter there, And they will teach thee what to learn is sweet.