C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
Three Ghazals or Odes (McCarthy trans.)
By Hafez (c. 1325–c. 1389)
O
Bring medicine for the disease of love; bring wine, which is the balm of old and young.
Do not grieve for the revolution of time, that it wheeled thus and not thus. Touch the lute in peace.
Wisdom is very wearisome; bring for its neck the noose of wine.
When the rose goes, say “Go gladly,” and drink wine, red like the rose.
If the moan of the turtle does not remain, what matter? Bring music in the jug of wine.
The sun is wine and the moon the cup. Pour the sun into the moon.
To drink wine is either good or bad: drink, if it be bad or if it be good.
Her face cannot be seen except in a dream; bring then the medicine of sleep.
Give cup after cup to Hāfiz; pour, whether it be sin or sanctity.
I imagined that I had uprooted that flower from the garden of my heart, for every blossom which sprang up from its suffering bore only the fruits of pain.
From fear of the attacks of her love, I set my heart free with bloody strife; my heart dropped gouts of blood which marked my footsteps.
I beheld from her terrace how the glory of the moon veiled itself in confusion, before the face of that dazzling sun.
At the voice of the singer and the cupbearer, I go to the door in and out of season; for the messenger cometh with trouble from a weary road.
Any gift of my beloved I take as a courteous and kind, whether it be Mohammedan, Christian, or Jewish.
Heaven protect her eyebrows from harm! for though they brought me to despair, yet with a gracious greeting they have given consolation to the sick heart.
Joy to the time and the hour when I freed myself from the snare of her braided tresses, and gained a victory which even my foe admitted!
From envy of the tresses of my beloved, the breeze lavished all the musk which she had carried from Tartary.
I was amazed when I discovered last night cup and jug beside Hāfiz; but I said no word, for he used them in Sūfī manner.
From the joy of intoxication I was longing to call back the beloved of my youth; but divorce had befallen.
I dreamed that I might kiss those divine eyes. I had lost strength and patience on account of her arched eyebrow.
O Saki! give the cup frequently, because, in the journey on the path, where is the lover who has not fallen into hypocrisy?
O interpreter of dreams! give good tidings, because last night the sun seemed to be my ally in the joy of the morning sleep.
At the hour when Hāfiz was writing this troubled verse, the bird of his heart had fallen into the snare of love.
M
Fill me the bumper bounteously, joyous and eager, fresh and free.
O for a bower and one beside, delicate dainty, there to hide;
Kisses at will to seize and be joyous and eager, fresh and free.
Sweet is my dear, a thief of hearts; bravery, beauty, saucy arts,
Odors and unguents, all for me, joyous and eager, fresh and free.
How shall the fruit of life be thine, if thou refuse the fruitful vine?
Drink of the wine and pledge with me, joyous and eager, fresh and free.
Call me my Saki silver-limbed, bring me my goblet silver-rimmed;
Fain would I fill and drink to thee, joyous and eager, fresh and free.
Wind of the West, if e’er thou roam, pass on the way my fairy’s home;
Whisper of Hafiz am’rously, joyous and eager, fresh and free.