Poems from the Divan of Hafiz · 20 of 77

Ode XVIII (I)

XVIII SLAVES of thy shining eyes are even those That diadems of might and empire bear; Drunk with the wine that from thy red lip flows, Are they that e’en the grape's delight forswear. Drift, like the wind across a violet bed, Before thy many lovers, weeping low, And clad like violets in blue robes of woe, Who feel thy wind-blown hair and bow the head.

Thy messenger the breath of dawn, and mine A stream of tears, since lover and beloved Keep not their secret; through my verses shine, Though other lays my flower's grace have proved And countless nightingales have sung thy praise. When veiled beneath thy curls thou passest, see, To right and leftward those that welcome thee Have bartered peace and rest on thee to gaze!

But thou that knowest God by heart, away! Wine-drunk, love-drunk, we inherit Paradise, His mercy is for sinners; hence and pray Where wine thy cheek red as red erghwan dyes, And leave the cell to faces sinister. Oh Khizr, whose happy feet bathed in life's fount, Help one who toils afoot-the horsemen mount And hasten on their way; I scarce can stir.

Ah, loose me not! ah, set not Hafiz free From out the bondage of thy gleaming hair! Safe only those, safe, and at liberty, That fast enchained in thy linked ringlets are. But from the image of his dusty cheek Learn this from Hafiz: proudest heads shall bend, And dwellers on the threshold of a friend Be crownèd with the dust that crowns the meek.