Poem #358

I see no end to the sorrow of this age of mine

I see no cure but the purple remedy of wine.

I will not leave the service of the Magian Seer

for in that path alone, my benefit is clear.

Seek joy's elevation from the sun-filled bowl

I see no other fortune to uplift the soul.

Love is the sign of God's own kin—keep this in mind

a sign among the city's sheikhs I cannot find.

A thousand woes! My two eyes, bewildered and blind

even with two mirrors, your face I cannot find.

Since your tall form has vanished from my weeping eye

I see but flowing water where the cypress used to lie.

In this hangover, none will grant a sip of grace

I see no man of heart in this entire place.

Ask not about her waist, that hair-thin sign of bliss

for in the midst of it, I see not even this.

I and Hafez's ark drift on this sea profound

elsewhere, no pearl-strewn speech is ever found.