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Divan of Hafiz

Ghazal 13

WHAT is wrought in the forge of the living and life--

All things are nought! Ho! fill me the bowl,

For nought is the gear of the world and the strife!

One passion has quickened the heart and the soul,

The Beloved's presence alone they have sought--

Love at least exists; yet if Love were not,

Heart and soul would sink to the common lot--

All things are nought!

Like an empty cup is the fate of each,

That each must fill from Life's mighty flood;

Nought thy toil, though to Paradise gate thou reach,

If Another has filled up thy cup with blood;

Neither shade from the sweet-fruited trees could be bought

By thy praying-oh Cypress of Truth, dost not see

That Sidreh and Tuba were nought, and to thee

All then were nought!

The span of thy life is as five little days,

Brief hours and swift in this halting-place;

Rest softly, ah rest! while the Shadow delays,

For Time's self is nought and the dial's face.

On the lip of Oblivion we linger, and short

Is the way from the Lip to the Mouth where we pass

While the moment is thine, fill, oh Saki, the glass

Ere all is nought!

Consider the rose that breaks into flower,

Neither repines though she fade and die--

The powers of the world endure for an hour,

But nought shall remain of their majesty.

Be not too sure of your crown, you who thought

That virtue was easy and recompense yours;

From the monastery to the wine-tavern doors

The way is nought

What though I, too, have tasted the salt of my tears,

Though I, too, have burnt in the fires of grief,

Shall I cry aloud to unheeding ears?

Mourn and be silent! nought brings relief.

Thou, Hafiz, art praised for the songs thou hast wrought,

But bearing a stained or an honoured name,

The lovers of wine shall make light of thy fame--

All things are nought!

Ghazal 14

LAY not reproach at the drunkard's door

Oh Fanatic, thou that art pure of soul;

Not thine on the page of life to enrol

The faults of others! Or less or more

I have swerved from my path--keep thou to thine own

For every man when he reaches the goal

Shall reap the harvest his hands have sown.

Leave me the hope of a former grace--

Till the curtain is lifted none can tell

Whether in Heaven or deepest Hell,

Fair or vile, shall appear his face.

Alike the drunk and the strict of fare

For his mistress yearns--in the mosque Love doth dwell

And the church, for his lodging is everywhere.

If without the house of devotion I stand,

I am not the first to throw wide the door

My father opened it long before,

The eternal Paradise slipped from his hand.

All you that misconstrue my words' intent,

I lie on the bricks of the tavern floor,

And a brick shall serve me for argument.

Heaven's garden future treasures may yield--

Ah, make the most of earth's treasury!

The flickering shade of the willow-tree,

And the grass-grown lip of the fruitful field.

Trust not in deeds--the Eternal Day

Shall reveal the Creator's sentence on thee;

But till then, what His finger has writ, who can say.

Bring the cup in thine hand to the Judgment-seat;

Thou shalt rise, oh Hafiz, to Heaven's gate

From the tavern where thou hast tarried late.

And if thou hast worshipped wine, thou shalt meet

The reward that the Faithful attain;

If such thy life, then fear not thy fate,

Thou shalt not have lived and worshipped in vain.

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