Poem #490

In the Magian tavern, none is mad as I today

My cloak is pawned for wine, my book is cast somewhere away.

The heart, which is the mirror of the King, is veiled in dust

I seek the company of those whose vision I can trust.

I swore repentance at the hand of the Wine-seller fair

"I'll drink no more unless the Face that lights the feast is there."

If the narcissus boasts it holds the beauty of your eye

Be not aggrieved; the seeing ones pass blind pretenders by.

Perhaps the candle can explain the secret of this fire

The moth has not the tongue to speak the depth of its desire.

I’ve let the rivers of my eyes flow down upon my vest

That perhaps that tall and Cypress-like One by my side might rest.

Bring me the ship of wine! For without the Friend's dear face

My eyes have turned to oceans in this grief-stricken place.

Speak not of strangers to a heart that worships only One

I care for nothing but my wine and my Belovèd Sun.

How sweet the tale a Christian sang at dawn with reed and drum

Within the tavern door where all the seeking spirits come:

"If this is Muslim faith that Hafez holds within his sorrow

Alas if after such a day there follows a tomorrow!"