Poem #5

My heart is slipping from my hand! O wise ones, aid me!

Alas, that this hidden secret must now revealed be.

We are the shipwrecked ones! O favorable wind, arise!

That I may see the Familiar Face again with these longing eyes.

The ten-day favor of the sphere is a magic tale, a spell,

seize the chance to be kind to friends, for this passes as well.

Last night in the circle of wine and rose, the nightingale sang his part:

'Bring the morning draught! Arise! O you drunkards of the heart!'

O you who possess generosity! In thanks for your health and state,

ask one day for the dervish poor, who sits at your palace gate.

The peace of this world and the next lies in these two lines alone:

with friends, let chivalry be shown; with enemies, patience shown.

In the street of good repute, they denied us entrance there,

if you do not like our way, change the decree of the air!

That bitter draught the Sufi called 'Mother of Evils' in his spite,

is sweeter and more desirable to us than a virgin's kiss tonight.

In the time of poverty, strive for pleasure and wine's elation,

for this alchemy of existence turns beggars to kings of the nation.

Do not rebel, lest the Beloved burn you like a candle flame,

that Idol in whose hand hard stone is soft as wax and tame.

The mirror of Alexander is the cup of wine, behold!

That it may show you the state of Darius's kingdom of old.

The sweet-voiced Persian speakers are the givers of life and grace,

Cupbearer, bring the good news to the pious of rascally race!

Hafez did not hide this wine-stained cloak from his own sight,

O Sheikh of pure and spotless robe, excuse us in our plight.