Poem #483

At dawn, a wanderer spoke this riddle to a friend

As through a strange and distant land their journey they did wend:

"O Sufi, wine becomes most pure, and spirit grows sublime

When forty days within the jar it bides its quiet time.

God turns away a hundred times from dervish cloaks like these

That hide a hundred idols in their long and holy sleeves.

Though chivalry be but a name, a sign that leaves no trace

Present your need with humbleness before the Loved One's face.

O master of the harvest, great reward shall be your due

If you show mercy to the poor who glean a grain or two.

I see no joy on any face, no laughter in the air

No healing for the broken heart, no faithful, pious care.

The inner self has turned to dark; perhaps from realms unseen

The recluse shall bring forth a lamp to light the gloomy scene.

If Solomon’s own finger does not wear the signet ring

What magic power can the stone or golden circle bring?

Although the lovely ones are known for tempers sharp and wild

What harm if once they turned to peace, and on the sad one smiled?

Show me the tavern's hidden path, that I may go and ask

The seer of the future for the outcome of my task.

Hafez lacks presence in the class where secrets are defined

Nor does the scholar hold the truth within his learned mind."