Songs of Hafiz
Date: 2025-12-13T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Persian poetry -- Translations into English

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Title: Songs of Hafiz

Author: active 14th century Ḥāfiẓ

Translator: Edna Worthley Underwood

Release date: December 13, 2025 [eBook #77453]

Language: English

Original publication: Boston: The Four Seas Company, 1917

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/77453

Credits: Carol Brown and The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS OF HAFIZ ***

SONGS OF HAFIZ

By Edna Worthley Underwood

The Garden of Desire
Songs From the Plains

Songs of Hafiz

Newly Translated from the Persian

BY
EDNA WORTHLEY UNDERWOOD

Boston
The Four Seas Company
1917

Copyright, 1917, by
THE FOUR SEAS COMPANY

THE FOUR SEAS PRESS
BOSTON MASS. U. S. A.

CONTENTS

The Book of The Tavern Keeper | 9
Notes | 19
The Book of The Singer | 25
Notes | 33
The Book of Lyrics | 35
Notes | 76

SAKINÂME

THE BOOK OF THE TAVERN KEEPER

THE BOOK OF THE TAVERN KEEPER

Bring on the wine! Light inspiration’s fires!

To genius, to ambition, bring fresh desires!

Once my well hoarded wealth these virtues rare,

Until Love basely did my soul ensnare.

Bring on the fluid gold! ’Tis Noah’s life boon,

And fabled treasure gives rich as Karun!

To him who thus lifts up a prayerful eye

The Gateways of Desire will open fly.

Bring on the golden fire which in Earth’s breast

Old Zoroaster sought with pious zest.

When crowned with love and wine, why should we care

Whether we pray to Earth or Fire or Air!

Bring on the wine, the dream, the dear delight!

Dawn-rosy paints the Cup of Dschem the night.

Bring on Dschem’s Magic Cup, that by its might

I may explore the secrets of the light.

Dschem’s Magic Cup bring me! Make haste, I say!

When’er you find it empty, fill it, pray.

This royal word spake Great Dschemschid of old:

“One grain of wheat will all Earth’s treasure hold.”

Bring on the cup, sparkling like Selsebil!

My pole star be it, topping Heaven’s hill.

When flute and either shed their sweetness down,

The cup I’d not exchange for King Kei’s crown.

Bring on, I say again, the virgin wine,

Unsmirched of tavern smoke and pure and fine.

Bring joy back to my heart once more, though I

Gather the gossiping world’s grudges thereby.

Bring joy’s fire back, which once should wild beasts know,

The mighty forests would be leveled low.

Alone it frees from coil of change and time,

And for me opens the tent door divine.

Bring on the wine! In it the Houris smiled!

There Heaven keeps their sweet breath undefiled.

Oh! with it I will quench this passion’s glow,

A little while at feet of Peace sit low.

Bring wine whose rosy light strikes up the sky

To greet there for me Dschemshid and King Kei!

It is then I’ll ask, when flutes shed sweetness down—

“When wore Kawusz and when Dschemshid the crown?”

Oh! life is but a substance made for song!

With song call back again the royal throng.

Let each one rule awhile beneath the light!

Let wine our dim thoughts strengthen, make more bright!

I lorded it full well the heart’s throne o’er,

Till Scorn and Sin shut fast on me the door.

Bring wine! Bring wine! Thus dissipate my night,

Bring softness to my sorrow, to darkness, light!

Its glory now upon me is richly shed,

And now the face of Wisdom’s unveilèd.

A spirit glorious was I and free.

As dust amid the dust who exiled me?

Yet when the crystal cup my hand does hold,

I see the mirrored joys of earth unfold.

At Gates of Sacrifice I bend the knee,

And though a beggar, a king seem to be.

Whenever drunken, inspired Hafiz sang,

From Heaven Sohre’s lute in answer rang.

Life is a fickle, frail inconstant thing;

Seek then within the cup joy’s doubling.

Wine lengthens out alone man’s little day,

And makes real for a space the phantom way.

Enjoy the banquet board, the candle light!

To none Life keeps the troth that she would plight.

As floating bubbles on a cup of wine,

Vanished in dust Keikobad’s might divine.

To sleep send wisely now the griefs of life,

And live not as a slave held by heart-strife.

Without the soul the body can not be,

How heart, then, without wine-soul, pray, tell me?

Again fill full the glass! Fill full, I say!

I drink to all the Kings who lived their day.

Has any, pray, escaped the thirst of Fate,

Insatiate of blood, livid with hate?

Let anger not for me thy breast inflame,

Because thou of the dust, of flame I came.

Fill full the glass! From out its finer fire

Let comfort come forth, courage, and fresh desire.

Incorporate its substance with my soul,

Since treasures vanish as sea rivers roll.

Bring wine! To match it rubies do not dare!

Let pride and grief unto the devil fare.

The rosary and cowl go with them too,

To both, well pledged for wine, a long adieu.

The treasures of the Vine Child flow most free

Wherever cloister walls frown heavily.

Should any say to thee: “Beware the sight!”

I pray thee answer only: “Friend, good night.”

Bring on the wine! I love its rosy flower.

Let me live grandly for one little hour!

Naught else can free my heart from grief a space

And show to me the great Life-Giver’s face.

Wine! Wine! that nourisheth the souls of men,

Unto the dying holds Life’s mirror up again.

Wine! Wine! My tent I’ll pitch upon the air,

And neighbor with the bright star-dwellers there.

Fill full the cup again with rarest wine,

Thus fill my spirit with one more divine,

That, Tavern Keeper, double natured I

May praise thy wine the worthier thereby.

Come, Saki, let thy glory grace the feast,

Although divinely natured it is not least.

Lift up the cup! Make haste! Why shouldst thou fear?

In Heaven it is not accounted wrong as here.

Life’s substance, Saki, is thy wine to me;

Pour on! Pour on!—though all should emptied be.

To death the circling days had drawn me near,

Until I found The Wise Man’s Fountain here.

Quickly that fount of wisdom bring to me!

On Rustem’s war steed Raksch I’ll ride grandly!

And like Tuhemten’s hero wield will I

The sword of Truth till Falsehood faint and die.

Bring on the onyx-carven crystal cup!

I love its joyous fire when lifted up.

A plague be on the bowed slaves of the pen!

But Inspiration—let her call again.

Exterminate with fountains of wine-fire

The grief that gnaws the heart out of desire.

Make thine the day! Let that be Duty’s thought;

Who knows whether another’ll come or not?

All they who once were lords of life and time,

And feasted as fond lovers in their prime,

Were forced the tinsel joy-world to forego,

And now forgotten in their graves lie low.

Who toward The Tent dares lift a haughty eye?

Who counts on joy when all things else pass by?

Alas!—Alas!—that Youth speeds like the wind!

Happy alone who keepeth pure his mind.

Saki, bring wine! Beneath its magic power

I’ll own the two worlds for my little hour.

That king who stormed the world and swore to take,

A banquet is where worms their hunger slake.

From forth the tingling spheres, from Morning’s wing,

From out the mouths of Houris these words ring:

“Break through thine earthly cage, Sweet Singer, thou,

Where naught but phantoms are hast lived enow!”

“Unto the Heaven wing thy fearless flight,

To rest, and reap reward on clearer height.”

Availed it, pray, Great Dschem to rule the world,

When from his hopeless hand the cup was hurled?

To make the wine of life the red grape dies,

Therefore it needs must make my dead heart rise.

Each brick that yonder roof unto was brought

Was some once mighty head, now dust and naught.

With royal blood the clefts of earth are filled,

And Beauty’s dust upon the wind is spilled.

One haughty at The Banquet boasted loud,

Up-swinging high the cup before the crowd.

“The jest and scorn of Heaven here is seen:

The great it humbles and exalts the mean.”

Darius, mortals excelling so far,

The assembled kings of earth less kingly are,

As softly stole away when Death cried “Come!”

As if he ne’er had stood beneath the sun.

Away now to thy king! For me say this:

Thou who dost bravely wear Dschem’s crown I wis—

Seek well the beggar out, his hunger still,

Ere yet the Cup of Dschem is thine to fill.

All needlessly the cares of earth confine

Since freedom waits for all within the wine!

And now that such a king the scepter owns

As never found an equal upon thrones,

Defender of the faith, of peace and right,

Of Kingly Kaianian, star most bright,

Give length of days, give good health to our king,

Conquest unto his nation, honor bring.

So long as wrong and right draw not a-nigh,

And Bull and Ram pasture within the sky,

So long, God grant, may Shah Mansur remain,

And blessed be the years o’er which he reign!

In wine which ripens in the glowing south

I drink to him with hand and heart and mouth!

NOTES

PAGE 9

Hart, in that part of his essay on Persian poetry which deals with the Tavern Keeper says:

“This characterizes the poetic spirit of the Sufi, the mystic, that he never expresses his teachings in abstract words but wraps them up in an embroidered picture, and expresses everything allegorically, perhaps for the purpose, that the orthodox may be deceived as to the size of the chasm that yawns between deistic Mohammedanism and the pantheistic religion of the Sufi. Since all mysticism is the outgrowth of a superabundant imaginative life, it is natural that the oriental mystic should use beautiful symbols of the senses ... and under the figure of the handsome Tavern Keeper, God is almost always meant. Whether one has always to do with a mystic poem, or a realistic song of love and wine, can not be decided with absolute certainty. And it can not therefore be considered strange that Omar and Hafiz, who have been praised as ‘the mystic tongues,’ should likewise be condemned as free-thinkers and scorners of things sacred.”

Zoroaster arose as a teacher and prophet of religion about 900 B. C.

According to the Koran it was not the eating of an apple that drove Adam and Eve from Paradise, but instead a grain of wheat.

According to the religion of Mohammed two angels write down the good deeds and the evil deeds of each person.

“Drunken often is God’s man without wine.” —Rumi

Karun was famous for his wealth. The word corresponds to our word Crœsus.

PAGE 10

Dschem or Dschemshid, is the somewhat mythical first king of Persia. Fable has attributed all sorts of exploits and heroic deeds to him. He is a national hero after the manner of King Arthur. He taught the Persians agriculture and useful arts. Firdusi has sung at length of his wars.

Selsebil is a river of Paradise. It is a frequent term of comparison.

“Thou, whose face is Eden and whose lips are

Selsebil.”—Schehab-ed-din-Edib Sabir

Rumi speaks of “the Fountain Selsebil, which, Sweet Youth, guides you to the gates of Paradise.”

Dschem’s Magic Cup. The eastern fable has it that once a basket of grapes was brought to King Dschem just as he was starting for the hunt. He ordered the grapes to be placed in a costly jar and kept until his return. The hunt lasted longer than he intended. When he returned he found in the jar not grapes but a rich, fragrant liquid. He wrote the word “poison” upon the jar and set it away. One day one of the beauties of the palace who desired to end her life because of unrequited love, found and drank it. Instead of dying she fell into a deep and pleasureful sleep. When she awoke she remembered her dreams and desired to live. She told the courtiers of it. They tasted the poison just as she did and with the same effect. Then wine was made for the first time in Persia and named “the sweet poison.” King Dschem hastened to try it, and so did all his courtiers and his scholars and it became widely celebrated.

The King possessed a golden cup upon the bottom of which the mysteries of earth were revealed. This cup plays an important part in Persian poetry. Goethe’s “König in Thule” seems almost to be a reminiscence of Dschem and his cup of gold.

The fables of the cup are many. It is told of Hafiz that once an old man held out to him a magic cup. He drank of it and became an inspired poet.

Lakschmi, the Venus of Indian mythology, rose from the sea bearing in her hands a magic cup in which was the wine of immortal life.

“Drink with thy lips from the cup of consecrated love of wine of eternity, for from its intoxication is beloved desire born, and heights are found in its depths.”—Rumi.

PAGE 11

The Houris are the maidens of the Mohammedan Paradise whose beauty delights the faithful after death. Kawusz was Shah of Iran in the days of Rustem. Firdusi makes this mention of him in the Shah-name, where he tells the story of Sorab and Rustem. To Kawusz then they brought this grievous word: “The Throne has lost Rustem, its defense.”

Raksch or Reksch was Rustem’s famous war steed.

PAGE 15

Tuhemten means the strong one, the glorious. It is one of the appellations of the national hero, Rustem, who is the Persian Siegfried or Hercules. Perhaps Samson is the best equivalent, since Rustem’s strength was the gift of God.

Wise Man’s Fount. It is related of the Prophet Chiser that he journeyed into the Land of Darkness where he found the Fountain of Life.

PAGE 17

Great Dschem once wrote this on a stone beside a fountain: “Many have rested and refreshed themselves here and then gone on when the light of the fountain failed. I conquered the world by strength and courage and yet into the grave I can take nothing with me.”

From The Bostan of Saadi.

PAGE 18

Shah Mansur. Hafiz lived at his court.

MUGHANNINÂME

THE BOOK OF THE SINGER

THE BOOK OF THE SINGER

Why tarriest, Singer? Take thy lute! ’Tis done!

With royal song call back again the royal one.

Be great thoughts, too, our guests with wine and rhyme,

And mention of old friends exiled by time.

Bring to our jaded circle joy of June,

Let Kul and Ghasel blossom to thy tune.

Grief bowed unto the earth, beggared was I,

Once more on wings of song, oh let me fly!

Through richest measured magic, Singer, go,

Grief’s curtain lift! The face of Beauty show!

So well let inspiration wing thy flight,

That Anahid dances a-down the night,

The maiden harpist, to whose witching song

Old friends unto The Banquet backward throng,

Who lifts enwrapt to God the Sufi up

As surely as from hand to mouth the cup.

Give tones so vibrant, rich so roundly sweet,

The tangling dust of time falls from the feet.

Deliverance bring from cares of sordid earth,

Safe sheltered in my heart bring Peace to birth.

Come, Singer, come! Befriend me as of yore!

In case the lute fails, let the loud drums roar.

It is best when in the blood wine works its harm,

To drown it with the deafening drum’s alarm.

Why tarriest, Singer? Red rose time is here,

When nightingales sing sweetest of the year

Embowered within the green. Shall I not know

The joy-song of my blood when lutes breathe low?

Come, Singer, through the ear inspire the soul,

With fresh songs ever let fresh music roll.

Shatter my heart, My Singer, with thy song!

Rebuild it greater, cleared of grief and wrong.

Oh! joy if thou shouldst show such grace to me,

Again within my heart youth’s fire set free,—

Youth’s fire!—swift to consume Grey-Grief and Care,

And wrinkled Sorrow’s household drive from there.

Why tarriest, Singer? On thy strings strike loud.

Come, banish from my breast this beggar crowd!

A beggar sooner hence myself would go

When Death calls, than a purple robe to show.

Sweet Singer, swifter strike a-down the strings—

Swifter, I say! A truce to sorrowings!

Or liefer wouldst thou sing an Irak song

While blinding tears the swollen eyelids throng?

Come, Singer, since my soul confides in thee,

Upon thy truth-pledged word this do for me:

Be shabby Grief’s sad Camps thy glorious goal;

With song, pray scatter them, with twirled drums roll!

Spacious with love my heart now shelters thine;

Inspire the flute with friendship’s breath divine.

Drown deep thy woe in wine! Suffice that not,

Breathe in the flute. By breath even life is bought.

Why tarriest, Singer? Come!—fresh songs, I say!

Thy cup is empty? Fill it then straightway,

That we together, new born unto joy,

May happy be a space sans Care’s alloy.

And with the others let my own songs meet,

Tripping beside thy lute they will seem more sweet.

Let music make my soul her home to-night;

Lead on the dance! The cowl I’ll fling from sight!

Upward, inspired, from thought to thought I’ll soar,

What time wine’s guarding the tongue’s Tavern Door.

Grief grasps my heart! The two-stringed lute let ring!

Nay! Nay!—the three-stringed—to The One Great King!

Fresh songs, My Singer! And brave let them be!

I’d have friends hear, exchange their joys with me.

To pleasure them who walk the ways of bliss.

Once more pray sing of Barbud and Perwis!

I’ve caught Fate at her knavish tricks again!

I’ll toy with Love—forget both life and men!

Upon this gloomy resurrection shore,

Alone the blood of grapes is ours to pour.

I watched amazed the dizzy Heaven spin:

Who is freed from life to-day? Who will death begin?

Mere fraud and vanity are things of earth;

The Night is pregnant. What brings she to birth?

Sure happiness and peace no man’s may be.

Who stands safe on a bridge built unsafely?

The vulture’s instinct hath the greedy dust,

Which Selm and Tur into the darkness thrust.

Beside this road of ruin, desolate and dead,

Efrasiab a palace proud builded.

Where is his great general gone, pray, Prince Piran?

And Schideh, where, with sword from Turkestan?

And where their fellow soldiers? No one knows—

Nor over them where reddest blooms the rose.

For struggle, strife and sorrow, Fate made men;

One fights best with the sword, one with the pen.

NOTES

PAGE 27

Ghasel and Kul are Persian verse forms. Ghasel is a verse of merry meter. Kul is a somewhat graver form.

PAGE 29

The Irak meter corresponds somewhat to what is meant by our word elegy in that it is frequently dedicated to grief.

PAGE 31

Barbud was a singer at the court of the Sassanian King, Choszrew Perwis, who reigned from 570 to 626.

Selim and Tur were the sons of King Feridun—a mythical King of Iran. They slew their elder brother after he had become king. Later, they, too, were slain by a relative.

Efrasiab was a mighty prince from Turkestan and a dangerous enemy of Persia. He was noted for his love of splendor.

PAGE 32

Schideh was one of the sons of Efrasiab.

THE BOOK OF LYRICS

TO_HADSCHI_KIWAMEDDIN>

TO HADSCHI KIWAMEDDIN

Come, come, Saki, in my wine cup
Set your scarlet sun a-glow,
Singer, lift your sweetest lute up
For the founts of fancy flow.

Mirrored in the cup’s rich measure
Lips and cheeks like rubies shine,
Ah! you do not know the pleasure
That flows to me from the wine!

Yet my fond, frail, wine-born fairy,
You can hold me but few hours,
Till like pines on uplands airy
My slim cypress by me towers.

If your heart by love is smitten

Unto death no dread path is;

Therefore in Fate’s book ’tis written:

By love deathless is Hafiz.

When at Judgment’s bar I’m standing,
Brighter not will Sheik’s bread shine,
Nor a price bring more commanding
Than my own forbidden wine.

Morning Wind, you restless rover,
Should you her rose-garden pass,
Quickly bend a pearl ear over
And breathe: “Greetings, sweetest lass!”

TO HADSCHI KIWAMEDDIN

Tell me why should you so cruelly
Forget him who gives you love,
Since forgetfulness must surely
Come some day to all who love?

You have seen your own rich beauty
Doubled by wine’s fervent glow;
Wherefore then should I know duty
When the founts of fancy flow?

Hafiz, out of these pearl tears pure,
With which now your cheek is wet,
You can make perchance a lure,
Catch the Love-bird in the net.

See the Heaven’s great green ocean,

And the moon-boat’s silver sheen!

They are lost in the greater ocean

Of your grace, Kiwameddin.

Tavern Keeper, glasses!

Bring me twain forsooth!

I would drink elixir

Of divinest youth.

Bring the dear defender
Against love and pain,
Old age’s panacea,
Bring me wine again!

If the wine the sun is,
The glass is the moon,
Bring to me the sun then,
Throned there none too soon.

Bring for all my folly
A noose wove of wine;
Let that stiff neck dangle
Whose name is as mine.

Flashing, fiery water
Quickly bring to me;
Alone ’twill extinguish
My heart’s fire-fury!

When the roses leave us,

Cry: God grant them rest!

Wine, out-crimsoning roses,

Bring me—and the west!

Grieve not that bird-music
Lasts not over long;
Make gay pledge of glasses
Sing a sweeter song.

Grieve not that thy youth has

With the wild winds flown.

Instead strike the either

And the barbiton!

Since only in slumber

Thy face lights the way,

Mandragora brew me!

I would sleep for aye!

Tavern Keeper,—glasses!

Quickly—one—two—three—

Make me slumber deeply,

Deeply dream of thee.

Bring the cup of Hafiz,

Rosy, rich, its shine!

Whether wrong or right ’tis—

Tavern Keeper—wine!

“Oh! Red Rose,” said the Nightingale, “thee I’ll throne in love apart!”

Black envy’s storm broke over him—lo!—a thorn within his heart!

“Mine,” merrily the parrot said, “shall sweetest sugar be.”

Misfortune fell upon him and his wish was vanity.

I said: “My Son, Heart’s Dearest, thou art balsam to my eyes!”

He is gone. Within the world not a pleasure for me lies.

Drivers, halt the tinkling camels! Let pause the caravan,

For my pack has fallen. Find it! Oh! find it if ye can!

Scorn not my dust disfigured face stained o’er and o’er with tears!

Of just such mortar always man his regal dwelling rears.

Alas! that Heaven’s moon should stoop to envy one like me,

To steal my moon-faced love away to light eternity.

Ah! Hafiz, hadst thou not delayed, grand-children now were thine!

Thy wild blood made the passing day always too subtly shine.

If a sweet Turkish maid I know
In Shiraz were mine heart and hand,
For her cheek’s mole I would bestow
Both Bokhara and Samarcand.

Drink wine! Both life and wine are sweet;

For what grove as Mosella’s fair?

As Roknabad no stream is fleet

In Paradise nor anywhere.

Oh! Beauty storms upon my soul
As robber Turk upon his prey;
It steals my heart, my peace—my soul—
And soon ’twill steal my mind away.

Of wine, pray, talk, of song, of love—

Upon that other world build not!

No one has come back from above,

Not prophet, saint, nor wise man not.

I’ve heard of Suleika forsooth
Who threw aside all wifely shame
Because of Beauty’s bounteous youth,
And unchastely to Jusuf came.

Vexed are you, Child? Then be it so.

Even cruel words become you well!

Upon your ruby lips I know

I could not sweet from bitter tell!

A little listen to me, pray—
Advice from age to youth is meet—
Should any bond o’er you hold sway
Be sure it is made of roses, Sweet!

Oh! you weave well your pearls of song,

Good Hafiz! May earth treasure you.

May Pleiades who gleaming throng

Weave golden gowns to pleasure you!

Tavern Keeper, lo!—the moonrise on the fast of Ramazan!

Quick the cup here! For denial I’ll make up as best I can.

Precious days—alas!—are wasted! Now make up, I say, make up,

For the torturing time that’s vanished without joy, without the cup.

How can I burn on forever in repentance and grief’s fire?

Wine! Bring wine! Now let life burn on in the gold flame of desire.

Drunken make me, senseless, senseless,—that I may not ever know

From this picture-book of life here who has gone, who soon must go.

That the dregs within thy wine cup on my lips may keep their sweet,

In the Tavern morn and evening I pray for thee as is meet.

Tavern Keeper, lo!—the moonrise—on the fast of Ramazan!

Let the wine scent in my nostrils give me life again, good man!

Hypocrites are haughty hearted and their ways are full of sin,

But the pious drinker sometime place in Paradise will win.

All the coined gold my heart held did I give to purchase wine;

Wrong,—alas!—’twas—I regret it—all that wayward youth of mine.

Nay! Nay! Hafiz sits not under any preachment’s painful word;

He will never find the true path who from it has never erred.

Oh Pious Zealot, why, prithee,

Dost pray and point to Paradise!

It was for this world God made me,

And shut the other from my eyes!

Who never for God soweth seed,
However years may wax and wane,
No flower may gather from the mead,
And from the fertile field no grain.

Devout am I across the wine,
Christian and Mussulman can praise—
Faith’s giant bulwark is thy fine
Conceited boast in canting phrase.

God blew in earth dust making me,
Such lusty life, such joy of days,
That all thy threats can not, Sufi,
Keep me from nature’s chosen ways.

Nor Sufi will in Heaven shine
Who never has his cowl like me,
Pledged at The Tavern door for wine,
The better Faith’s pathway to see.

The Houris love not any man
Who Beauty’s veil dares not to raise,
And without love pray tell me can
The Heaven equal earthly ways?

Oh Hafiz! great is God’s good grace,
Of nothing cherish fear therefore,
Lift henceforth to his holy place
Thy hopes of happiness the more.

God and I, and a good heart yet!

Nay! none think it as of yore

Since I became gossip’s target

In The Tavern more and more.

Poor old ragged robe! Deride it
Some do saying that it’s worn
For wine’s sake, within to hide it,
Since without it I’m forlorn.

Be not puffed up nor pride lusty,

Scholars! That shows little wit.

What we were and are and must be

In Fate’s book has long been writ.

Colors dazzle, scents ensnare us,

Seize the glass and swing it high!

For Life’s Banquet it prepares us.

Sorrow—see!—is slipping by.

True, Good Heart, the eye should guide thee
Ever lest a danger lower;
When its drunk—then ill betide thee
For the eye hath lost its power.

Strive to reach some rich ambition,
Merit brings reward alone;
Good delayed feeds not fruition,
For delay naught can atone.

Hafiz, let not poets measure
Thy gold hearted ecstacy;
Back to earth throw not thy treasure,
Nor thy pearls into the sea.

Now, Singer, a song that is fresh forsooth!

(Roses for Springtime and youth for youth!)

Oh! I would drink wine that is sweet to the tooth!

(Roses for Springtime and youth for youth!)

Oh! naught can for life that is loveless atone,

By my little sweetheart I will sit all alone;
Of kisses I’ll rob her without any ruth—
(Roses for Springtime and youth for youth!)

Oh! when you are old and your heart has grown sad,

Not even young wine can again make it glad,

Of wine then and life make the best forsooth!

(Roses for Springtime and youth for youth!)

Thou Giver of Good Wine, pray, by me not pass.

Just so long as I’m young I will hold up the glass,

Foam it rich at the brim. I am thirsty forsooth.

(Roses for Springtime and youth for youth!)

Look at that child there—gay thief of my heart!

See how flower-decked she is, sweet with what art,

Cunning enchantress of life forsooth!

(Roses for Springtime and youth for youth!)

Zephyr, by chance shouldst my dove-cote find,

Whence peer two eyes that the world can make blind,

Say: Hafiz’ heart’s in thy hand in truth!

(Roses for Springtime and youth for youth!)

In The Market where the gamesters
Sit and drink the drums are loud;
Oyez!—all ye who are quartered
Cavalierly with Love’s crowd!

Just a day or two ago ’twas

That the Vine’s wild laughter fled;

Help to find her! Gamesters! Lovers!

Too long has she rioted.

You will know her when you see her,
Gemmed with rubies is her gown,
Pearls from Pleasure’s foaming ocean
Clasp her forehead like a crown.

Oyez!—Gamesters! Lovers! Find her!

She’s so perilous, so fair,

She robs men of mind and senses,

Search well for her—but—beware!

Whoe’er brings her back—the wanton,—

On him I’ll spend my soul’s sweet.

In Hell should he find her hiding

I will kneel there at her feet.

Somewhere in the black night is she—
Rosy sprite from Pleasure’s Mart—
Find her! Not again she’ll wander,
She shall dwell in Hafiz’ heart.

Two and seventy sects are fighting—

Let them! It may ease their ire!

Who Delusion’s Doors are lighting

May not ever find Truth’s fire.

For the true fire is not that one
Of the flickering candle’s breath;
Nay—the true fire is the Love-Sun
That the night-moth drives to death.

Hafiz, all the world confesses
None have so Thought’s veil up-thrown,
Since the Word Bride’s curly tresses
Poets learned to dress and comb.

Scold not, Zahid, pious zealot
That we love and sing and drink,
Surely sins of others will not
In your book be writ, we think!

If I’m good, if evil rather—
Mind your own affairs, Good Friend,
Everyone the fruit must gather
That he sows when comes the end.

You can never be quite certain
That I’m shut from Heaven’s book;
Did you ever through a curtain
See how people’s faces look?

Whether you drink or do not drink,
Everyone a friend will search,
And love find there where you least think,
In mosque, synagogue and church.

Surely I lift not the first, Sir,
To forbidden fruit my eyes,
For this God sent my ancestor
From the fields of Paradise.

Sleep is sweet on Eden’s pillows,
But I warn you to be wise
And the shadows of our willows
Here in Shiraz learn to prize.

Upon Fortune’s favors build not,

Can it matter what you do?

On the first day was your fate wrought

And your future written through.

Hafiz, whene’er death shall call you,
If your hand should hold the cup,
From this Wine House they will take you
Where the wise men laugh and sup.

In my merry mood of drinking

Pray how fared your preachment, how?

How from dark ways labyrinthine

Did I find an exit, how?

How has wine’s ecstatic splendor

Aught to do with timid saints?

From hid bowers do you remember

Hearing songs with preachers’ plaints?

My heart shuns the cloistral silence,
Hooded cowl, hypocrisy,
How can I best bid defiance
With this wine-born ecstacy?

Days of joy—they go and leave me

Lone and sad with dreams of yore;

Kisses where—caresses? Tell me!

And all such old love’s sweet store?

What use that love softly handles

Hearts that hatred hard has made?

Oh! Joy’s gay extinguished candles—

In what grave, pray, are they laid?

Once the dust from off your threshold
Was like balsam to my eyes,
Now pray tell me—now I’m grown old—
Where an equal pleasure lies?

By the apple of your chin there

Love’s bright fountain winked at me.

Oh! my sad heart—now—where—where—

From memory’s tumultuous sea?

Nevermore except from Hafiz
Any peace to know or keep,
No, no! Not that way his path is—
Until sleep be long and deep.

Before my soul’s serene visage

The dust of earth a veil has spread.

Oh! just once let me lift it up

And glimpse the glory overhead!

Whence I have come, or how, or why,
Has never been made clear to me,
I am ashamed so ignorant
Of my own life’s affairs to be.

I’d gladly wander pilgrim-wise
Across the space of earth outspread,
With nightingales strive wing by wing
O’er gardens where the rose is red.

Shall I who dreamed a life whose stage
The austere forms of angels throng,
Believe this low abode of hate
Can be the home where I belong?

Look not upon the gold-wrought band
That richly hems this robe of mine,
Far royaller within my heart
I’ve taught the torch of love to shine.

Take back again thy singer’s life—
Or good or bad, or true or sham—
Since I gave over all to thee
Who has heard Hafiz say: “I am!”

Tears, tears, wild tears, rend not I pray

This shining grief-wrought veil of mine!

I would not like old love tales bare

My secret for all to divine.

Patience can make—so peasants say—
Red rubies of the pebble stone;
Ah yes! Ah yes!—and well it may
If heart blood lend the rosy tone.

My rival’s proud presumptuous air
Confuses me—surprises—quite,
How could such a poor needy wretch
Grasp this caprice’s splendid height!

You carry, Sweet, your head too high,

My Cypress proud, my Royal One!

Too short my arm, you say? You fear

’Twill not unto your girdle come?

Why, Sweet, through your love’s alchemy
This cheek of mine is no more old,
And your two sun-bright eyes have power
To turn my poor dust into gold.

Yet beauty without grace of heart,
Howe’er so great its red lipped charm,
Can satisfy not senses fine
Of him who’s wise, nor work him harm.

Oh! soul of mine shouldst tell to her
Of that wild, wayward youth now gone,
Frame words so fine, so cunningly
Not even the wind can bear them on.

When sorrow comes, be firm and calm,
Look up with hope, be not bowed low,
And thank God for the trial sent,
Or else from bad to worse ’twill go.

Be patient, sad, sad heart of mine,
From sorrow joy is sure to come;
The night is transformed into day
And each dawn has a rising sun.

If you should visit Hafiz’ grave,
Unto his night your day bring, Sweet,
He’d burst the bonds of death in twain
And kneel to kiss again your feet.

Since now from the heart of night the rose
Leaps like a flame to light the lea,
And humble hearted violet shows
Her hidden head so modestly,

Do thou drink deep of the daylight wine,
’Mid tinkling harps, soft flutes that sigh,
Drink deep of the fiery kiss divine
Of Beauty’s youth ere it pass by.

Drink deep of the fleeting red-rose time

’Mid joy of love and dance and song,

Brief, brief. Dear Heart, is the rose’s prime,

Nor ours—alas!—is over long.

Gold starred is the earth’s broad breast with flowers,

With gold flowers starred likewise the sky;
I’ll haste me away where bend the bowers
And there fair fortune prophesy.

Back, back, now our old fire altars bring!

Lo! here is Zoroaster’s God!

Daily Nimrod’s petaled fire will spring

From tulip cups that pierce the sod.

Wine by Beauty’s hand now outpoured should
Up-raise the dead with a prophet’s might;
Pray of Ad think not, nor of Themud
Whom God gave into grief and night.

Red of the rose and the lily’s snow
Make Earth an Eden, fleeting, fair—
Alas! ’tis soon of the long ago
With spring’s blue skies and vagrant air.

Down the wind even now lo! rides the rose,
Royal as Solomon, king of old;
David’s song rapture richly flows
From nightingale’s voices of gold.

A health to Mahmud, Great Persia’s sun,
Firm pillar of the faith is he,
The new Asef of Solomon—
May grief bend not his brows blackly!

Now naught Hafiz can ere fail thee
O’ershadowed by his mighty name,
To God pray that thou mayest not see
An end unto his noble reign.

Of that dear day when first we met—Oh! Heart’s Delight,—

Sometimes—pray—think!

Of that dear day fading so soft to night—

Sometimes—pray—think!

Oh, bitterer than gall is grief, crueller its sway;

Of the wild, wild joy of love’s old holiday

Sometimes—pray—think!

As others have—I know—you have forgot me too,

But that, Dear Heart, I broke all ties, all bonds for you—

Sometimes—pray—think!

And though a prisoner now by sad misfortune bound,

That graven upon my heart your dear, dear name is found—

Sometimes—pray—think!

I am dissolved in tears. I can do naught but sigh;

Of Ispahan—and streams that sang so sweetly by—

Sometimes—pray—think!

And though with grief your heart like mine be broken too,

Of all the old love-days that we together knew—

Sometimes—pray—think!

Be locked forever now, Hafiz, the sad heart’s door;

And yet of her—of her you loved so well of yore—

Sometimes—pray—think!

Come, Tavern Keeper, fill the glass!

Our merry friends must thirsty be,

The love that warmed my heart—alas!—

Has fled and of joy beggared me.

How shook my trembling soul with fear
When rose scents drifted down the wind,
From her rich hair blown all too near,
The fragrant east wind’s message kind.

The prayer rug now with wine is red,
And red likewise our host with joy,
A Tavern Keeper wise ’tis said
Of whom truth comes without alloy.

In love can there be any peace
When tinkle in the ears of man
The camel bells with no surcease?—
“Make haste! Now starts the caravan!”

And what know they of night’s black heart,
Of raging seas, the whirlwind’s roar,
Who free and careless walk apart
Upon the safe and sandy shore?

What with heart-blood from Fate I’ve wrung
Report has blackened oft for me
With bitter gossip’s greedy tongue—
The masses know not secrecy.

Oh! Hafiz, follow thine own star
And snap unto the world thy thumb,
Wouldst thou not keep thy love a-far
And thine own healthy speech make dumb.

When the evening call to prayer rings
From strange mosques I do not know,
I sob out fond foolish sayings,
Homesick, babble of my woe.

Then the memory, Love, of thy face
Such a flood of grief sets free,
I could swim across the world space,
On my tears become a sea!

Since in this strange land though friendly
Not an exile I remain,
Send me back again, Almighty,
Back to dear Shiraz again!

Lo! dust-humbled thus I’m praying:

“Let me see again, Just God,

On my home the green vines swaying,

And the dear familiar sod!”

How can I to thinkers count, pray,
As a grey beard old and wise,
Since I still with love and youth play
For the same sweet foolish prize?

Here but north and east wind know me,
Unknown otherwise am I,
None say “Greetings!” since none know me
Save that wanton wind a-fly.

From my love’s far dwelling to me
Perfume comes like the call of morn,
East Wind, pray a breath waft to me
That ’mid Shiraz flowers was born!

I must tell you—Oh!—shame on it—

That my own tears me betray

In eye corners bold. Shame on it!

Since my little love’s away.

From Sohre whose twirling harp is
Sweetest of the heavenly throng,
Came this word: I learned from Hafiz
All I know of art and song.

Within the mystic mosque there prays
None like to me or far or near,
For red wine have I pledged always
My books now there, my cowl now here.

My heart which God his mirror made
Is dimmed and tarnished o’er with dust;
To find the path from which I’ve strayed,
Oh send some guide whom I may trust!

On my old ragged robe remain

The tears which never cease to flow;

Come back, Dear Heart! Come back again!

I plead thus in my passion’s glow.

Go bring me now the ship of wine,
Since on love’s long and luckless way
Within my eye corners a-shine
There grows Grief’s ocean day by day.

Of Beauty let be all my thought,
Of other things keep silence, pray,
Beauty I love—youth—beside naught—
Except wine—wine, which well I may!

Once long ago when flutes were high
At dawn unto a tavern door
A handsome Christian lad drew nigh
And sang as none have sung before:

If Moslem men are like to thee,
Hafiz, and love and drink and sing,
Then woe betide them should there be
Atonement and a reckoning.

I am thirsty for thine eyes, Love,
Hast thou no message for me,
That thy sun-born, paradise-dove
From the earth may be set free?

Love, I’m thirsty for thy sweet face!

If for it, Lord, I may live,

Both earth’s birthrights—time and space—

Back into thy hands I’ll give.

Let some glad cloud, golden-hearted,
Point the way of truth to me,
Ere—poor dust clod—I’ve departed
For some sad eternity.

Shouldst thou seek my low grave, Dear One,

Bring with thee both wine and song,

Let thy lips but whisper—“Come, come!”

Cold death can not hold me long.

Once again as in the old nights,
Clasp me close within thine arms,
Once again as in the old nights,
There I fear not doom’s alarms.

Let the dances’ trodden measure
Show thy naked youth’s slim grace—
Quick! Quick!—Grant Hafiz this pleasure
Ere he vanish back to space.

When The Tavern Keeper gives you a glass winking at the brim,

The circle of the angels you may enter then with him.

Scold not, Sufi! Nay, nay—scold not! Love’s message will be made clear

Surely by some wine-inspired one when the Day of Judgment’s here.

Bring wine, Tavern-Keeper, glowing, musk-scented, and smooth to taste!

Precious hours with the Philistines we are all too prone to waste.

Has he any right to live on, who delays from day to day?

Nay, nay! A plague upon him who will not be happy when he may;

Yet I promise you that Hafiz would shun shores of Paradise

If a place to pray you’d grant him beneath the altar of your eyes.

From The Book of Noble Living I would read a verse to thee,

Preferably of faith and kindness since they strangely pleasure me.

May he who aims an arrow at thy heart find for his hate

A treasure house there stored with the richest gold by Fate.

And should envious ones wound thee throwing stones as vagrants do,

At their feet like to the fruit tree all thy ripened riches strew.

Should they unto death pursue thee, as the mollusk then pray be,

On his head who deals the death stroke shed thy pearls down plentifully.

When the merry wine-sun rising in the cup begins to glow,

The cheeks of our Tavern Keeper all their tulip flowers show.

Then the amorous West Wind roughens Rose’s hyacinthine hair,

Because fields and meadows told him how fragrant she was and fair.

From this humble earthly table do you hope Oh! nevermore

To receive bread unless for it your heart’s blood you should outpour.

All laments o’er loss and loving sound alike to age and youth,

Yet a hundred books, I dare say, could not tell you all their truth.

If like Noah you brave the deluge, triumph o’er it, live it through,

Earth’s immortal joy of living will come back to dwell with you.

To the pearl of price your efforts never can find out the way;

To keep trying without favor is with folly long to stay.

If the East wind of thy favor should but once touch Hafiz’ grave,

His poor dust would rise in reverence and to thee a greeting wave.

Whoso hasheesh—the green sweet grain—
Does eat, howe’er so small the part,
Sets thirty joyous nightingales
To making music in his heart.

An atom of the sweet green grain
Sets suns a-blaze in Sufi’s eyes,
And makes thy songs ecstatic strain
Like Simurgs—bird of Paradise.

AT THE GRAVE OF HIS SON

The Spring has come! The roses wake from sleep!

My long lost Rose, why shouldst thou slumber keep?

I’ll weep and weep like to that radiant cloud,

That with the flowers thou too mayst lift the shroud.

Whate’er fate God’s given, take it!

Changeless is it. Naught can shake it.

If humble, always ’twill be so,

Past you all things great you’ll see go;

If Fate’s web is black like night

Not Mecca’s fount will wash it white.

Who’s never sown the seeds of love,
Nor rose’s red lips tasted,
Bends sadly tulip beds above
Which angry storms have wasted.

Great God, to whom in vain no one does pray,
Creator, Keeper of my earthly day,
Avails it aught that I confess my sin
When nothing from Thy Eyes has hidden been?

See how on the cheeks of the tulip

The dews of morning shine!

Boy, bring me the wine of joy now,

Quick! Quick! the morning wine!

A throne has been built out of emeralds,
Upon it sits a rose—
Boy, bring me wine that is fiery
Wherein a ruby glows!

See!—the doors of Heaven are open,
It was from there this fragrance came,
From there soon will come my sweetheart,
Unveiled and without shame.

Dust upon my sweetheart’s threshold
To me brighter glows by far,
Than the gold-embroidered carpets
Where the sultan’s favorites are.

If the wind but bears the dust by
Whereon her foot’s paused to rest,
Sweeter ’tis than pinks or violets
Or the oil from roses pressed.

Oh! kiss well and drink well,

For cruel is Fate,

Soon tolleth Time’s bell:

Too late! Too late!

The Eye of Mighty Love cares not

Just how we pray nor in what spot,

In mosque or synagogue or church,

At last life leaves us in the lurch.

Thy face bathe well in water,
But thy tongue bathe well in wine,
For thy tongue’s the royal herald
Of the truth which is divine.

Praise God, the wine door’s open, Men!

I’m off on the old path again!

True spirit fire the wine-jars frame,

(Fools take symbolically the same!)

I take as tastes. Hafiz divine,

None know thee save when candles shine!

See, see there The Tulips!
Merry drinkers, they,
Holding straight their cups up,
Colored oh! so gay,
That when heavenly nectar
From the clouds rains down
They may gayly banquet
All of Tulip Town!

A cozy nook, a maid to love, a mind that’s free from care,

A merry song to sing, a lute, and wine beside me there

Which warms the heart and head so well that frightened Grief speeds by,

I would not exchange these for all the gold of Hatim Tai.

Devout be in the daylight and drink thy wine by night,

It dims by day the heart’s mirror and sets thereon a blight,

But when the veil of darkness has buried deep the sun,

From the wine cup’s Eastern ocean let thy Sun of Joy come!

Oh that Youth’s glowing gown must fade!

Oh that eternity were on it laid!

The Fount of Life grows dry. Sadly we see

To-day we are not what we used to be.

We leave behind companions, friends, and kin,

Because such has the will of Heaven been.

Even brothers part and go so far—so far—

The Twins alone in Heaven changeless are.

NOTES

PAGE 58

Ad and Themud were old Arabian races who were punished with extinction because of their disobedience to God.

PAGE 59

Mahmud Imadeddin—Pillar of the Faith. He was vizier during the life of Hafiz, and one of his friends.

PAGE 65

This is one of the poems which is inscribed upon Hafiz’ grave; the other is the poem on the preceding page.

PAGE 74

The first quatrain is one of “the wandering quatrains” of Persia. It is found with almost the same words in several other Persian poets.

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Table of Contents

- SONGS OF HAFIZ
- CONTENTS
- SAKINÂME
- MUGHANNINÂME
- THE BOOK OF LYRICS

- TO_HADSCHI_KIWAMEDDIN>

- IMPORTANT BOOKS OF POETRY
- THE CONTEMPORARY SERIES
- Transcriber’s Note:

- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE