Poem #197

If beauties play the lover's game this way

They'll crack the faith of pious men who pray.

Wherever narcissus branches bloom in spring

Rose-cheeked ones make their eyes like narcissus swing.

O cypress youth! Say 'Go!' before they take

Your graceful form and polo-mallet make.

Lovers have no command upon their head

Whatever you command, that path they tread.

In my eye, these flood tales are less than drops

All their grand stories, my regard just stops.

When our Friend begins the mystic dance and song

Angels on the throne will clap and move along.

My pupils now are stained with crimson pain

Where else do they inflict such cruel disdain?

Bear grief with grace, O heart! The secret wise

Find joy within abandonment's harsh crucible of cries.

Keep sighing, Hafez, through the midnight hour

Till dawn's bright mirror shows your face in power.