nt,
Night and day,
Till thy fortune, Hafiz,
Thy wish obey.

VI

My heart no longer brooks my hand: sages, aid for God my woe!
Else, alas! my secret-deep soon the curious world must know.

The bark we steer has stranded: O breeze auspicious swell:
We yet may see once more the Friend we love so well.

The ten days' favor of the Sphere--magic is; a tale which lies!
Thou who wouldst befriend thy friends, seize each moment ere it flies.

At night, 'mid wine and flowers, the bulbul tuned his song:
"Bring thou the morning bowl: prepare, ye drunken throng!"

Sikander's mirror, once so famed, is the wine-filled cup: behold
All that haps in Dara's realm glassed within its wondrous mould.[7]

O bounteous man, since Heaven sheds o'er thee blessings mild,
Inquire, one day at least, how fares Misfortune's child.

What holds in peace this twofold world, let this twofold sentence show:
"Amity to every friend, courtesy to every foe."

Upon the way of honor, impeded was my range;
If this affect thee, strive my destiny to change.

That bitter, which the Sufi styled "Mother of all woes that be,"[8]
Seems, with maiden's kisses weighed, better and more sweet to me.

Seek drunkenness and pleasure till times of strait be o'er:
This alchemy of life can make the beggar Kore.[9]

Submit; or burn thou taper-like e'en from jealousy o'er-much:
Adamant no less than wax, melts beneath that charmer's touch.

When fair ones talk in Persian, the streams of life out-well:
This news to pious Pirs, my Saki, haste to tell.

Since Hafiz, not by his own choice,
This his wine-stained cowl did win,
Shaikh, who hast unsullied robes,
Hold me innocent of sin.[10]

Arrayed in youthful splendor, the orchard smiles again;
News of the rose enraptures the bulbul of sweet strain.

Breeze, o'er the meadow's children, when thy fresh fragrance blows,
Salute for me the cypress, the basil, and the rose.

If the young Magian[11] dally with grace so coy and fine,
My eye shall bend their fringes to sweep the house of wine.

O thou whose bat of amber hangs o'er a moon below,[12]
Deal not to me so giddy, the anguish of a blow.

I fear that tribe of mockers who topers' ways impeach,
Will part with their religion the tavern's goal to reach.

To men of God be friendly: in Noah's ark was earth[13]
Which deemed not all the deluge one drop of water worth