Poem #264

Rise, and pour joyful water into the golden cup

before the cup of the head is filled with dust.

Our final station is the valley of the silent

for now, cast an uproar into the dome of the heavens.

The tainted eye is far from the Beloved's face

look upon that face only with a pure mirror.

By your green head, O Cypress, if I turn to dust

cast aside your pride and cast your shadow upon this dust.

My heart, wounded by the snake of your tress

heal it with the opium of your lips.

You know this field's kingdom yields no stability

cast fire from the cup's liver into these estates.

I washed in tears, for the sages of the path say

'First become pure, then cast your eye upon the Pure One.'

O Lord, that self-seeing ascetic who saw nothing but faults

cast the smoke of his sighs into the mirror of understanding.

Like the rose, tear your garment into a robe at His scent, Hafez

and cast this robe in the path of that agile figure.