Poem #423

Last night, sleep-stained, I went to where the tavern doorway lies

My prayer-rug soaked in wine, my cloak wet with my tearful eyes.

The Magian boy came forth to me with pity in his gaze

And said: 'Wake up, O traveler, lost in your sleepy haze!'

Go wash yourself, then walk into the tavern's hall divine

Lest this ruins' purity be stained by fault of thine.

How long will you for sweet-lipped boys your spirit's essence waste

Staining your soul with molten ruby wine in foolish haste?

Pass through old age in purity, and do not soil the dress

Of white hair, as you stained the robe of youth in recklessness.

Become pure and clear, emerge from nature's muddy well

For muddy water cannot cleanse, the truth I tell.

I said: 'O Soul of the World, the rose is not to blame

If spring is stained with pure red wine, it bears no shame.'

The knowers of the path of Love in this deep ocean drowned

Yet by the water were not stained, in mystery profound.

He said: 'Hafez, to friends do not sell riddles and display

Alas for kindness stained with such reproach and harsh array!'