Poem #374

Come, let us scatter roses now, and pour the wine in bowls

we'll break the vault of heaven down, and plan new, daring goals!

If Grief should raise an army dark to shed the lovers' blood

I and the Cupbearer shall join to stem the rising flood.

Into the purple wine we'll pour rose-water, sweet and fair

and sugar in the censer burn, to scent the morning air.

With harp in hand, Musician, play! A song of joy and grace

we'll sing and dance and stamp our feet, and cast care from this place.

O Breeze, waft up our dusty souls to that Exalted King

that He may cast a glance on us, while we are wandering.

One boasts of reason's cold decree, one weaves a tangled tale

come, let us bring these arguments before the Judge's scale.

If you desire Eden's bliss, come to the tavern's side

from the wine-jar's foot we'll cast you straight to Kawthar's holy tide.

In Shiraz town they have no love for wit or singer's art

come, Hafez, let us seek a land where we may heal our heart.