Hafiz

1:Like That. ~ Hafiz,

2:to season you. ~ Hafiz,

3:Listen to this music. ~ Hafiz,

4:For so very, very long. ~ Hafiz,

5:Still though, we should dance. ~ Hafiz,

6:for You are the only one I want to see. ~ Hafiz,

7:Leave all your elaborate plans and tactics for knowing God. ~ Hafiz ,

8:A day of silence can be a pilgrimage in itself. ~ Hafiz,

9:do not grieve." ~ Hafiz, @Sufi_Path

10:Do not let your precious movements come to naught. ~ Hafiz,

11:Keep squeezing drops of the sun from your prayers. ~ Hafiz,

12:To protect you. ~ Hafiz, @Sufi_Path

13:Whenever God lays His glance, Life starts clapping! ~ Hafiz,

14:You were coming… ~ Hafiz, @Sufi_Path

15:May the gratitude in my heart kiss all the universe. ~ Hafiz,

16:The Earth would die
If the sun stopped kissing her. ~ Hafiz,

17:Saki, with the light of wine up-kindle the cup of ours. ~ Hafiz,

18:closer than my veins. ~ Hafiz, @Sufi_Path

19:Stay close to anything that makes you glad you are alive.
~ Hafiz,

20:a cushion for the head..... ~ Hafiz, @Sufi_Path

21:Good poetry ... makes the universe ... reveal its ... 'secret' ~ Hafiz,

22:Strive for the truth so that out from your soul a sun may rise. ~ Hafiz,

23:Follow my tracks in the sand that lead Beyond thought and space. ~ Hafiz,

24:Where I have never been before. ~ Hafiz, @Sufi_Path

25:In the profound quiet, the immaculate comes into view; God disrobes. ~ Hafiz,

26:You carry all the ingredients to turn your existence into joy. Mix them. ~ Hafiz,

27:My soul endures a magnificent longing. ~ Hafiz, @Sufi_Path

28:O saki, arise and give the cup. Strew dust on the head of the grieve of days. ~ Hafiz,

29:The heart is a thousand-stringed instrument that can only be tuned with Love. ~ Hafiz,

30:it is like that of a raindrop upon the ocean... ~ Hafiz, @Sufi_Path

31:Run my dear,
From anything
That may not strengthen
Your precious budding wings. ~ Hafiz,

32:No matter how subtle the sleeper's thoughts become, his dreams will not guide him home. ~ Hafiz,

33:You put your lips upon my forehead, and lit a Holy lamp inside my heart.
~ Hafiz, [T5],

34:The affairs of this world are really nothing into nothing. Still though, we should dance. ~ Hafiz,

35:Time is a factory where everyone slaves away earning enough love to break their own chains. ~ Hafiz,

36:I wish I could show you, when you are lonely or in darkness, the astonishing light of your own being.
~ Hafiz,

37:A poet is someone Who can pour Light into a spoon Then raise it To nourish Your beautiful parched, holy mouth ~ Hafiz,

38:Just sit there right now, don't do a thing. Just rest....You can use my soft words as a cushion for your head. ~ Hafiz,

39:O saki (cupbearer), pass around and offer the bowl, For love at first appeared easy but difficulties have occurred. ~ Hafiz,

40:O saki, let the coming of this holy day be auspicious to you And the pledges you made not slip away from your memory. ~ Hafiz,

41:The sight of You amazes me. ~ For the Pearl does this... and the Ocean does that." ~ Hafiz, @Sufi_Path

42:The circle of love's inspired madness surpasses the knowledge of colleges with their quibbling over explanations and conclusions. ~ Hafiz,

43:O friend, I hope this road we are traveling goes by the wine house, for we're thirsty and needing a drink that lies behind that door. ~ Hafiz,

44:Awake, my dear. Be kind to your sleeping heart. Take it out into the vast fields of light and let it breathe." ~ Hafiz, @Sufi_Path

45:Remember for just one minute of the day, it would be best to try looking upon yourself more as God does, for She knows your true royal nature.
~ Hafiz, [T6],

46:The gatherings which will take place in Paradise are only the result of gatherings which took place in this life." ~ Habib Umar bin Hafiz ق, @Sufi_Path

47:Someone who tasted the sweetness of being close to Allah, will surely find bitter anything that may distant him from Allah." ~ al-Habib Omar bin Hafiz, @Sufi_Path

48:Whoever says 7 times "اللهم أجرني من النار" after Maghrib & Fajr before speaking, Allah will protect him/her from the Fire." ~ al-Habib Omar bin Hafiz, @Sufi_Path

49:My dear, is it true that your mind is sometimes like a battering ram running all through the city, shouting so madly inside and out about the ten thousand things that do not matter? ~ Hafiz,

50:The small man builds cages for everyone he knows
While the sage, who has to duck his head when the moon is low,
Keeps dropping keys all night long
For the beautiful rowdy prisoners. ~ Hafiz,

51:What Do Sad people have in Common? It seems They have all built a shrine ... To the past And often go there And do a strange wail and Worship. What is the beginning of Happiness? It is to stop being So religious Like That. ~ Hafiz,

52:Avoid hurting any living animal, and do whatever thou likest, For in my book of laws there is no crime but this." ~ Hafiz Shirázi, (1315-1390), Persian poet, his collected works are regarded as a pinnacle of Persian literature, Wikipedia,

53:Because of our wisdom, we will travel far for love. All movement is a sign of thirst. Most speaking really says "I am hungry to know you." Every desire of your body is holy. Dear one, why wait until you are dying to discover that divine Truth? ~ Hafiz,

54:If you keep the company of the impious, they will teach you to have a bad opinion of the pious. However if you keep the company of the pious, they will teach you to have a good opinion of the impious." ~ al-Habib Omar bin Hafiz, @Sufi_Path

55:Love sometimes gets tired of speaking sweetly and wants to rip to shreds all your erroneous notions of the truth that make you fight within yourself, dear one, and with others, causing the world to weep on too many fine days... The Beloved sometimes wants to do us a great favor: Hold us upside down and shake all the nonsense out. ~ Hafiz,

56:I have a thousand brilliant lies For the question: How are you? I have a thousand brilliant lies For the question: What is God? If you think that the Truth can be known From words, If you think that the Sun and the Ocean Can pass through that tiny opening Called the mouth, O someone should start laughing! Someone should start wildly Laughing Now!
~ Hafiz,

57:Light will someday split you open
Even if your life is now a cage.
Little by little, You will turn into stars.
Little by little, You will turn into
The whole sweet, amorous Universe.
Love will surely burst you wide open
Into an unfettered, booming new galaxy.
You will become so free
In a wonderful, secret
And pure Love That flows
From a conscious, One-pointed, Infinite Light.
Even then, my dear, The Beloved will have fulfilled
Just a fraction, Just a fraction!
Of a promise He wrote upon your heart.
~ Hafiz,

* WISDOM TROVE *

* NEWFULLDB 2.4M *

1:Whenever God lays His glance, Life starts clapping! ~ Hafiz,

2:Whenever God lays His glance, Life starts clapping! ~ Hafiz#poetry,

3:Stay close to anything that makes you glad you are alive.
~ Hafiz,

4:Good poetry ... makes the universe ... reveal its ... 'secret' ~ Hafiz,

5:All I know is Love, And I find my heart Infinite And Everywhere! ~ Hafiz,

6:Follow my tracks in the sand that lead Beyond thought and space. ~ Hafiz,

7:RT @mysticpoetry#Lightwill somedaysplit you open. ~ Hafiz#poetry#mysticpoetry,

8:All actions without love are just like dust in the air. ~ Habib Umar bin Hafiz,

9:Good poetry ... makes the universe ... reveal its ... 'secret' ~ Hafiz #poetry,

10:A man must be a Salomon before his magical ring will work. (Hafiz) ~ Idries Shah,

11:You carry all the ingredients to turn your existence into joy. Mix them. ~ Hafiz,

12:The origin of every sin of the heart is love of this world. ~ Habib Umar bin Hafiz,

13:The Sky where We live Is no Place to lose Your Wings. So love, love, Love. ~ Hafiz,

14:A true Muslim is like rain, wherever it falls, it will benefit. ~ Habib Umar bin Hafiz,

15:Follow my tracks in the sand that lead Beyond thought and space. ~ Hafiz #poetry #Life,

16:Only a Perfect One Who is always Laughing at the word Two Can make you know Of Love. ~ Hafiz,

17:Only a Perfect OneWho is alwaysLaughing at the wordTwoCan make you knowOfLove. ~ Hafiz#poetry,

18:Run my dear,
From anything
That may not strengthen
Your precious budding wings. ~ Hafiz,

19:No matter how subtle the sleeper’s thoughts become, his dreams will not guide him home. ~ Hafiz,

20:No matter how subtle the sleeper’s thoughts become, his dreams will not guide him home. ~ Hafiz,

21:Un hombre tiene que ser un Salomón antes de que su anillo mágico funcione. (Hafiz) ~ Idries Shah,

22:You put your lips upon my forehead, and lit a Holy lamp inside my heart.
~ Hafiz, [T5], #index,

23:If Allah created you for this world, He would have created you without death. ~ Habib Umar bin Hafiz,

24:Time is a factory where everyone slaves away earning enough love to break their own chains. ~ Hafiz,

25:Whoever doesn't worship God by choice will worship the creation by necessity. ~ Habib Umar bin Hafiz,

26:There is as much sense in Hafiz as in Horace, and as much knowledge of the world. ~ Arthur Conan Doyle,

27:Ever since happiness heard your name, it has been running through the streets trying to find you. ~ Hafiz,

28:I wish I could show you, When you are lonely or in darkness, The astonishing light of your own being ~ Hafiz,

29:I wish I could show you, when you are lonely or in darkness, the astonishing light of your own being.
~ Hafiz,

30:Know this: If God should shine His lovelight on your heart,I promise you'll shine brighter than a dozen suns. ~ Hafiz,

31:A poet is someone Who can pour Light into a spoon Then raise it To nourish Your beautiful parched, holy mouth ~ Hafiz,

32:Just sit there right now, don't do a thing. Just rest....You can use my soft words as a cushion for your head. ~ Hafiz,

33:Just sit there right now, don't do a thing. Just rest....You can use my soft words as a cushion for your head. ~ Hafiz,

34:Light will someday split you open Even if your life is now a cage. Little by little, You will turn into stars. ~ Hafiz,

35:Light will someday split you open Even if your life is now a cage. Little by little, You will turn into stars. ~ Hafiz,

36:A photographer is like a writer... you're writing with your lens so make sure you tell a good story. ~ Habib Umar bin Hafiz,

37:A poet is someone Who can pour Light into a spoon Then raise it To nourish Your beautiful parched, holy mouth ~ Hafiz#poetry,

38:The great poet Hafiz says that you should dye your prayer-carpet with wine if your teacher tells you to do so. ~ Idries Shah,

39:Love hasBefriended Hafiz so completelyIt has turned to ashAnd freedMeOf every concept and imagemy mind has ever known. ~ Hafiz,

40:El gran poeta Hafiz dice que deberías teñir tu alfombra de oraciones con vino si tu maestro te dice que lo hagas. ~ Idries Shah,

41:When you can make others laugh with jokes that belittle no one and your words always unite, Hafiz will vote for you to be God. ~ Hafez,

42:Even after all this time, the sun never says to earth,"You owe me." Look what happens with a love like that. It lights the whole sky ~ Hafiz,

43:I once asked a bird,
"How do you fly in this gravity of darkness ?"
And she replied "Love lifts me"
~ Hafez Hafiz~ Hafez ~ Hafez,

44:You ache with loneliness one night so much you weep and I say 'here is a rope tie it around me Hafiz will be your companion for life'. ~ Hafez,

45:Fear not to follow with pious feet the corpse of Hafiz, for though he was drowned in the ocean of sin, he may find a place in paradise. ~ Hafez,

46:Pulling out the chair beneath your mind And watching you fall upon God What else is there for Hafiz to do that is any fun in this world! ~ Hafez,

47:Just like the moon is fully illuminated when facing the sun, so are believers who fully turn themselves to face the Prophet ﷺ ~ Habib Umar bin Hafiz,

48:Remember for just one minute of the day, it would be best to try looking upon yourself more as God does, for She knows your true royal nature.
~ Hafiz, [T6],

49:Be true in your relationship with the Sovereign Creator, for He is the greatest one with whom you could relate in all your affairs and states. ~ Habib Umar bin Hafiz,

50:He who seeks beauty will eventually find it, and discover that the Persians are not entirely deceived in their Hafiz, nor the Hindoos in their Kalidasa. ~ F Max M ller,

51:Listen ~ this world is the lunatic’s sphere, Don’t always agree it’s real. Even with my feet upon it and the postman knowing my door ~ My address is somewhere else. ~ Hafiz,

52:I once asked a bird,"How do you fly in this gravity of darkness ?"And she replied "Love lifts me" ~ Hafiz ~ Man must use what he has, not hope for what is not.- George Gurdjieff,

53:The poet Hafiz writes, Don’t surrender your loneliness So quickly. Let it cut more deep. Let it ferment and season you As few human Or even divine ingredients can. ~ Jack Kornfield,

54:Hafiz,
Why carry a whole load of books upon your back
Climbing this mountain, when tonight,
Just a few thoughts of God
Will light the holy fire.
~ Hafiz, Why Carry?
,

55:as the Persian poet Hafiz warns, “Don’t surrender your loneliness so quickly. Let it cut you more deep. Let it ferment and season you as few human and even divine ingredients can. ~ Toko pa Turner,

56:The small man builds cages for everyone he knows
While the sage, who has to duck his head when the moon is low,
Keeps dropping keys all night long
For the beautiful rowdy prisoners. ~ Hafiz,

57:“Listen: this world is the lunatic's sphere,Don't always agree it's real,Even with my feet upon itAnd the postman knowing my doorMy address is somewhere else.” ~ Hafiz#JoyPublicity #JoyPublications,

58:I cried desperately I begged and pleaded and shredded my clothesnot to be sentto this world.Love asked me to gowith no fear to be alonePromising to be close everywhere I gocloser than my veins. ~ Hafiz,

59:I am a hole in the flute that the Christ's breath moves through listen to this music

I am the concert from the mouth of every creature
singing with the myriad chorus

Quote by Hafiz ~ Hafez,

60:Perhaps the tulip know the fickleness
Of Fortune's smile, for on her stalk's green shaft
She bears a wine cup through the wilderness

Translated by: Gertrude Bell

~ Hafiz, The Tulip
,

61:The
Great religions are the
Ships,

Poets the life
Boats.

Every sane person I know has jumped
Overboard.

That is good for business
Isn't it

Hafiz? ~ Daniel Ladinsky,

62:There is danger for him who taketh the tiger cub, and danger also for whoso snatches a delusion from a woman.’ There is as much sense in Hafiz as in Horace, and as much knowledge of the world.” a ~ Arthur Conan Doyle,

63:"Hafiz will always hold a lantern with galaxies blooming inside and will always guide your soul to the divine warmth and inspiration of our Beloved’s tent." ~ HafizAs long as our ideas are the same, we will never be apart.-Gurdjieff,

64:the God that the Sufi poet Hafiz writes about: Not the God of names, Nor the God of don’ts, Nor the God who ever does Anything weird, But the God who only knows four words And keeps repeating them, saying: “Come dance with Me. ~ Elizabeth Lesser,

65:The small man builds cages for everyone he knows, while the sage, . . . . . . . keeps dropping keys all night long for the beautiful rowdy prisoners. —HAFIZ ~ Kathleen Dowling Singh,

66:When light engages the heart, it causes an illumination of the path, a purification of the consciousness, an enlightenment of the intellect and an establishment of the foundations of dhikr and shukr and of beautiful worship. ~ Habib Umar bin Hafiz,

67:You may remember the old Persian saying, ‘There is danger for him who taketh the tiger cub, and danger also for whoso snatches a delusion from a woman.’ There is as much sense in Hafiz as in Horace, and as much knowledge of the world. ~ Arthur Conan Doyle,

68:From mans perspective in this intricate game of love,
It is so easy to become confused and think you are the doer.
But from Gods infinite certainty,
He always Knows that He is the only one
Who should ever be put on trial.

~ Hafiz, The Only One
,

69:What
Would
Happen if God leaned down

And gave you a full wet
Kiss?

Hafiz
Doesn't mind answering astronomical questions
Like that:

You would surely start
Reciting all day, inebriated,

Rogue-poems
Like
This. ~ Daniel Ladinsky,

70:One day the sun admitted,
I am just a shadow.
I wish I could show you the infinite incandescence
That has cast my brilliant image!
I wish I could show you,
When you are lonely or in darkness,
The astonishing Light
Of your own Being!

~ Hafiz, My Brilliant Image
,

71:What do sad people have in common?

It seems they have all built a shrine to the past, And often they go there and do a strange wail and worship.

What is the beginning of happiness?

It is to stop
being so religious

Like

That.
~ Hafiz, Stop Being So Religious
,

72:One day Kashmir will make India self-destruct in the same way. You may have blinded all of us, every one of us, with your pellet guns by then. But you will still have eyes to see what you have done to us. You're not destroying us. You are constructing us. It's yourselves that you are destroying. Khuda Hafiz. ~ Arundhati Roy,

73:Love sometimes gets tired of speaking sweetly and wants to rip to shreds all your erroneous notions of the truth that make you fight within yourself, dear one, and with others, causing the world to weep on too many fine days... The Beloved sometimes wants to do us a great favor: Hold us upside down and shake all the nonsense out. ~ Hafiz,

74:I have a thousand brilliant lies For the question: How are you? I have a thousand brilliant lies For the question: What is God? If you think that the Truth can be known From words, If you think that the Sun and the Ocean Can pass through that tiny opening Called the mouth, O someone should start laughing! Someone should start wildly Laughing Now!
~ Hafiz,

75:/Farsi Where have you taken your sweet song? Come back and play me a tune. I never really cared for the things of this world. It was the glow of your presence that filled it with beauty. [2200.jpg] -- from Love's Alchemy: Poems from the Sufi Tradition, Translated by David Fideler / Translated by Sabrineh Fideler

~ Hafiz, The Glow of Your Presence
,

76:Da mu kažem: sam sam, hafiz-Muhamede, sam i tužan, pruži mi ruku i samo za čas budi mi prijatelj, otac, sin, drag čovjek čija me blizina raduje, pusti me da zaplačem na tvojim usahlim prsima, zaplači i ti, zbog mene, ne zbog svih ljudi, zadrži mi svoj vlažni dlan na tjemenu, kratko će trajati, a potrebno mi je; kratko, jer evo već prvi pjetlovi pjevaju. ~ Me a Selimovi,

77:Jealousy
And most all of your sufferings
Are from believing
You know better than God.
Of course,
Such a special brand of arrogance as that
Always proves disastrous,
And will rip the seams
In your caravan tent,
Then cordially invite in many species
Of mean biting flies and
Strange thoughts-
That will
Beat you
Up.

~ Hafiz, Will Beat You Up
,

78:

A day of Silence can be a pilgrimage in itself.
A day of Silence can help you listen to the soul play
Its marvelous lute and drum.
Is not most talking a crazed defense of a crumbling fort?
I thought we came here to surrender in Silence,
To yield to light and happiness,
To Dance within
In celebration of Loves Victory!

~ Hafiz, Silence
,

79:I have a thousand brilliant lies for the question:
How are you?
I have a thousand brilliant lies for the question:
What is God?
If you think that the Truth can be known from words,
If you think that the Sun and the Ocean can pass through that tiny opening called the mouth,
O someone should start laughing!
Someone should start wildly Laughing,Now!
~ Hafiz, Someone Should Start Laughing
,

80:Mortal never won to view thee,
Yet a thousand lovers woo thee;
Not a nightingale but knows
In the rose-bud sleeps the rose.

Love is where the glory falls
Of thy face: on convent walls
Or on tavern floors the same
Unextinguishable flame.

Where the turban'd anchorite
Chanteth Allah day and night,
Church-bells ring the call to prayer,
And the Cross of Christ is there.
~ Hafiz, The Beloved
,

81:It never bored them to hear words, words; they breathed them with the cool night air, never stopping to analyse; the name of the poet, Hafiz, Hali, Iqbal, was sufficient guarantee. India—a hundred Indias—whispered outside beneath the indifferent moon, but for the time India seemed one and their own, and they regained their departed greatness by hearing its departure lamented, they felt young again because reminded that youth must fly. ~ E M Forster,

82:You need to become a pen
In the Suns hand.
We need for the earth to sing
Through our pores and eyes.
The body will again become restless
Until your soul paints all its beauty
Upon the sky.
Dont tell me, dear ones,
That what Hafiz says is not true,
For when the heart tastes its glorious destiny
And you awake to our constant need
for your love
Gods lute will beg
For your hands.

~ Hafiz, The Lute Will Beg
,

83:God was full of Wine last night, so full of wine that He let a great secret slip.
He said: There is no man on earth who needs a pardon from Me -
For there is really no such thing, no such thing as sin!
That Beloved has gone completely wild . He has poured Himself into me!
I am blissful and drunk and overflowing.
Dear world, draw life from my sweet body,
Dear wayfaring souls, come drink your fill of liquid rubies,
For God has made my heart
An Eternal Fountain!
~ Hafiz, The Great Secret
,

84:Why Aren't We Screaming Drunks?

by Hafiz (Daniel Ladinsky)
(1945? - ) Timeline

Original Language
English
Muslim / Sufi

Contemporary

The sun once glimpsed God's true nature
And has never been the same.

Thus that radiant sphere
Constantly pours its energy
Upon this earth
As does He from behind
The veil.

With a wonderful God like that
Why isn't everyone a screaming drunk?

Hafiz's guess is this:

Any thought that you are better or less
Than another man

Quickly
Breaks the wine
Glass. ~ Daniel Ladinsky,

85:I'm a spiritual person, she said. "I believe in Allah, you know, though I don't always call It 'Allah' and I pray the way I want to pray. Sometimes I just look out at the stars and this love-fear thing comes over me, you know? And sometimes I might sit in a Christian church listening to them talk about Isa with a book of Hafiz in my hands instead of the hymnal. And you know what, Yusef? Sometimes, every once in a while, I get out my old rug and I pray like Muhammad prayed. I never learned the shit in Arabic and my knees are uncovered, but if Allah has a problem with that then what kind of Allah do we believe in? ~ Michael Muhammad Knight,

86:Although the making of a religion of one’s own can be satisfying, it can progress further and faster with the aid of the spiritual traditions. Your own spiritual path risks being too personal and limited. What resources do you have compared to the traditions that have thought of things you will never consider? They have refined ideas and images and teachings and moral guidelines expressed in elegant and inspiring ways. They have produced spiritual beauty of a kind no single person could ever create. Read Emerson’s journals and you find that he was reading Hafiz for months, and Thoreau’s homespun spiritual insights come wrapped in references from the Western and Eastern traditions. ~ Thomas Moore,

87:Tradition as a Resource Although the making of a religion of one’s own can be satisfying, it can progress further and faster with the aid of the spiritual traditions. Your own spiritual path risks being too personal and limited. What resources do you have compared to the traditions that have thought of things you will never consider? They have refined ideas and images and teachings and moral guidelines expressed in elegant and inspiring ways. They have produced spiritual beauty of a kind no single person could ever create. Read Emerson’s journals and you find that he was reading Hafiz for months, and Thoreau’s homespun spiritual insights come wrapped in references from the Western and Eastern traditions. ~ Thomas Moore,

88:/Farsi Beauty radiated in eternity With its light; Love was born And set the worlds alight. It revealed itself to angels Who knew not how to love; It turned shyly towards man And set fire to his heart. Reason ventured to light Its own flame and wear the crown, But Your radiance Turned the world Of reason upside down. Others got pleasure As was their fate. My heart was Towards sadness inclined; For me, sorrow was destined. Beauty yearned to see itself; It turned to man to sing its praise. Hafiz wrote this song Drunk with Love, From a heart Carrying a happy secret. [2469.jpg] -- from Islamic Mystical Poetry: Sufi Verse from the Early Mystics to Rumi, Translated by Mahmood Jamal

~ Hafiz, Beauty Radiated in Eternity
,

89:/Farsi Cupbearer, it is morning, fill my cup with wine. Make haste, the heavenly sphere knows no delay. Before this transient world is ruined and destroyed, ruin me with a beaker of rose-tinted wine. The sun of the wine dawns in the east of the goblet. Pursue life's pleasure, abandon dreams, and the day when the wheel makes pitchers of my clay, take care to fill my skull with wine! We are not men for piety, penance and preaching but rather give us a sermon in praise of a cup of clear wine. Wine-worship is a noble task, O Hafiz; rise and advance firmly to your noble task. [1482.jpg] -- from Music of a Distant Drum: Classical Arabic, Persian, Turkish & Hebrew Poems, Translated by Bernard Lewis

~ Hafiz, Cupbearer, it is morning, fill my cup with wine
,

90:/Farsi Hair disheveled, smiling lips, sweating and tipsy, garment torn, singing a love song, glass in hand, picking a quarrel, chanting a spell, yesterday at midnight she came and sat by my bed. She lowered her head to my ear, and whispered, sad-voiced, "My old lover, are you asleep?" The lover for whom such a nightfarer's drink is poured is an unbeliever of love if he does not worship wine. Come on, hermit, do not blame those who drink to the dregs, there was no other gift when God announced His Mastery. The smile of the wineglass, a girl's tangled tresses, have broken may penances, as they broke the penance of Hafiz. [1482.jpg] -- from Music of a Distant Drum: Classical Arabic, Persian, Turkish & Hebrew Poems, Translated by Bernard Lewis

~ Hafiz, Hair disheveled, smiling lips, sweating and tipsy
,

91:/Farsi O Winebringer, the sun is up. Fill my goblet full of wine. Hurry, for night will come, and then we'll have to sleep. Outside, the doomsayers are announcing the end of the world. Quick! give us some of Your delicious wine! If it is fame and glory that you are looking for from the sun, Then go back to sleep; there is only divine knowledge to its rays. When Judgment Day arrives and the sky becomes a jug of poor clay, Make your skull into a clay cup, and fill it with this pitcher's wine. Now is not the time to be making small talk with your friends; Speak only of the cup and of the wine. Hafiz, get up! Get out of bed. You've work to do, And the worship of wine is all the worthwhile work there is! [1512.jpg] -- from Drunk on the Wine of the Beloved: 100 Poems of Hafiz, by Thomas Rain Crowe

~ Hafiz, Sun Rays
,

92:/Farsi Let's offer flowers, pour a cup of libation, split open the skies and start anew on creation. If the forces of grief invade our lovers' veins, cupbearer and I will wash away this temptation. With rose water we'll mellow crimson wine's bitter cup; we'll sugar the fire to sweeten smoke's emanation. Take this fine lyre, musician, strike up a love song; let's dance, sing all night, go wild in celebration. As dust, O West Wind, let us rise to the Heavens, floating free in Creator's glow of elation. If mind desires to return while heart cries to stay, here's a quarrel for love's deliberation. Alas, these words and songs go for naught in this land; come, Hafez, let's create a new generation. [1509.jpg] -- from The Spiritual Wisdom of Hafez: Teachings of the Philosopher of Love, by Haleh Pourafzal / Roger Montgomery

~ Hafiz, A New World
,

93:Ever since happiness heard your name it has been running through the streets trying to find you.
And several times in the last week, God Himself has even come to my door
Asking me for your address!
Once I said, God, I thought You knew everything. Why are You asking me where
Your lovers live?
And the Beloved replied, Indeed, Hafiz, I do know everything.
But it is fun playing dumb once in a while. And I love intimate chat
And the warmth of your hearts fire.
Maybe we should make this poem into a song, I think it has potential!
How far does this refrain sound, for I know it is a Truth:
Ever since happiness heard your name, it has been running through the streets
Trying to find you.
And several times in the last week, God Himself has come to my door,
So sweetly asking for your address, wanting the beautiful warmth of your hearts fire.

~ Hafiz, Several Times In The Last Week
,

94:Erich Auerbach, bir başka meslektaşı olan Leo Spitzer’le birlikte ‘Weltliteratur’ yani dünya edebiyatı kavramını sistemleştirmeye çalıştı. Aslında bu kavram daha önce Goethe tarafından ortaya atılmıştı. Aynı zamanda bir filozof olan Goethe, ayrı medeniyetlerin yarattığı edebiyattan çok, dünyanın yarattığı edebiyatı anlamaya çalışıyordu. Bu nedenle ileri yaşlarında Farsça öğrendi. İranlı büyük şairleri, Hafız’ı, Sadi’yi, bu arada sizin ortak değeriniz Mevlana Rumi’yi okudu. Meşhur West-Östlicher Diwan’ını yazdı.”
“Yani Batı-Doğu Divanı mı oluyor?”
“Evet, tam çevirisi bu.”
“Max, Mevlana’ya neden ortak değer dediniz?”
“Çünkü Konya’da oturmuş ama Farsça yazmış. Eğer Türkçe yazsaydı, üzgünüm ama, dünyanın ondan pek az haberi olurdu. Baksanıza sizin büyük şairleriniz Yunus Emre, Şeyh Galip daha az değerli olmamalarına rağmen dünyada tanınmaz ama Ömer Hayyam, Sadi, Hafız, Rumi çok okunur. Bunda Farsça’nın ve elbette Goethe’nin büyük payı vardır. ~ O Z Livaneli,

95:/Farsi Spring and all its flowers now joyously break their vow of silence. It is time for celebration, not for lying low; You too -- weed out those roots of sadness from your heart. The Sabaa wind arrives; and in deep resonance, the flower passionately rips open its garments, thrusting itself from itself. The Way of Truth, learn from the clarity of water, Learn freedom from the spreading grass. Pay close attention to the artistry of the Sabaa wind, that wafts in pollen from afar, And ripples the beautiful tresses of the fields of hyacinth flowers. From the privacy of the harem, the virgin bud slips out, revealing herself under the morning star, branding your heart and your faith with beauty. And frenzied bulbul flies madly out of the House of Sadness to unite with the flowers; its love-crazed cry like a thousand-trumpet blast. Hafez says, and the experienced old ones concur: All you really need is to tell those Stories of the Fair Ones and the Goblet of Wine.

~ Hafiz, Spring and all its flowers
,

96:/Farsi The garden is breathing out the air of Paradise today, Toward me, a friend with a sweet nature, and this wine. It's all right for the beggar to brag that he is a King today. His royal tent is a shadow thrown by a cloud; his throne room is a sown field. This meadow is composing a tale of a spring day in May; The serious man lets the future go and accepts the cash now. Do you really believe your enemy will be faithful to you? The candle the hermit lights goes out in the worldly church. Make your soul strong then by feeding it the secret wine. When we have turned to dust, this rotten world will press our dust into bricks. My life is a black book. But don't rebuke me too much. No person can ever read the words written on his own forehead. When Hafez's coffin comes by, it'll be all right to follow behind. Although he is a captive of sin, he is on his way to the Garden. [2402.jpg] -- from The Soul is Here for its Own Joy: Sacred Poems from Many Cultures, Edited by Robert Bly

~ Hafiz, The Garden
,

97:/Farsi O Saghi, pass around that cup of wine, then bring it to me. Love seemed easy at first, but grew so complicated later. The sabaa, unravels her braided tresses, spreading the musky scent of her black curls, How our hearts pound with this onrush of blood! How can there be in the house of the Beloved any assurance of settled comfort and pleasure, When at any moment the caravan bells can command us to pack up and leave? Even if the Master tells you to colour your prayer rug red with wine, As a disciple heed what the Tradition asks of you. Dark night ,frightening waves, terrifying whirlpools How could they know our state, those unaffected ones, sticking to the shore? All my selfish deeds finally led to this bad reputation How can that which people discuss openly be kept a secret? Hafiz, if you desire His presence, do not withhold yourself When you fulfill your deepest desire, when you encounter your Beloved, you relinquish every worldly thing.

~ Hafiz, O Saghi, pass around that cup of wine, then bring it to me
,

98:Forget every idea of right and wrong any classroom ever taught you
Because an empty heart, a tormented mind, unkindness, jealousy and fear
Are always the testimony you have been completely fooled!
Turn your back on those who would imprison your wondrous spirit
With deceit and lies.
Come, join the honest company of the Kings beggars -
Those gamblers, scoundrels and divine clowns and those astonishing fair courtesans
Who need Divine Love every night.
Come, join the courageous who have no choice but to bet their entire world
That indeed, indeed, God is real.
I will lead you into the circle of the Beloveds cunning thieves,
Those playful royal rogues, the ones you can trust for true guidance -
Who can aid you in this blessed calamity of life.
Hafiz, look at the Perfect One at the circles center:
He spins and whirls like a Golden Compass, beyond all that is rational,
To show this dear world that everything, everything in existence
Does point to God.

~ Hafiz, A Golden Compass
,

99:Many would have excommunicated her as well, for in Christian circles the reigning consensus over the years has been that one cannot be simultaneously a Christian and a Muslim. This consensus has been recently unsettled, however. Now a spirited debate rages around it, especially in evangelical circles. It centers primarily on Muslims who insist that they can be followers of Christ without abandoning Islam. In an article on Muslim-background believers, Joseph Cumming tells of such a person: Ibrahim was a well-respected scholar of the Qur’an, a hafiz [a person who has memorized the entire Qur’an]. When he decided to follow Jesus, he closely examined the Qur’anic verses commonly understood as denying the Trinity, denying Jesus’ divine Sonship, denying Jesus’ atoning death, and denying the textual integrity of the Bible. He concluded that each of these verses was open to alternate interpretations, and that he could therefore follow Jesus as a Muslim.18 Again, 100 percent Muslim and 100 percent Christian—or so Ibrahim would claim. ~ Miroslav Volf,

100:/Farsi If life remains, I shall go back to the tavern and do no other work than serve the revelers. Happy day when, with streaming eyes, I shall go again to sprinkle the tavern floor. There is no knowledge among these folk, Suffer me, God, to offer my jewel of self to another buyer. If the Friend has gone, rejecting the claim of old friendship, God forbid I should go and look for another friend. If the turn of the heavenly wheel favor me I shall find some other craft to bring him back. My soul seeks wholeness, if that be permitted by his wanton glance and bandit tresses. See our guarded secret, a ballad sung with drum and flute at the gate of another bazaar. Every moment I sigh in sorrow, for fate, every hour strikes at my wounded heart with another torment. Yet truly I say: Hafiz is not alone in this plight; So many others were swallowed in the desert. [1482.jpg] -- from Music of a Distant Drum: Classical Arabic, Persian, Turkish & Hebrew Poems, Translated by Bernard Lewis

~ Hafiz, If life remains, I shall go back to the tavern
,

101:The bulbul's care is naught but the rose is his mate dear
The rose's care is naught but to bring grace to her cheer
Not all lure is what brings the lover's heart to its fall
Master is he who bears compassion to his thrall.
Now comes the time when blood gushes into the ruby's heart
For the shard hath shattered its value and worth in the mart.
The bulbul's power of speech came from the rose's boon
Or his beak would be devoid of all this song and tune
O thou who in the street of our Love tread
Be careful; or his wall may shatter thy head
The traveler is accompanied by a hundredfold soul
Wherever he is, health and well-being be his dole
O heart! Though the dice of health to thee was cast
Sweet is the lot of Love. Cling to it hard and fast
Intoxicated, the Sufi wore his hat askew
Two more goglets, aslant his turban flew
To the sight of thee the heart of Hafiz had been inclined
It is now cherished with union. Put this torment behind.

(Translated by Ismail Salami)
~ Hafiz, Rubys Heart
,

102:Come so the rose we may spread, and, let wine into the goblet flow.
The roof of the sky we may cleave; and a new way seek more aglow.
If an army, the shedder of lovers' blood, raise sorrow
The Saki and I may join and its foundation pull thorough.
The rose water we pour into the goblet of ruddy wine:
Into the censer of the wind, the sugar and perfume, we cast in twine.
Minstrel! In thy hand resteth a merry instrument, a sweet melody play:
So we may sing a love-song, and dance to the merry note sans delay.
O breeze! To the abode of the Beloved, the soul of ours take;
That the Monarch of the lovely mayest deign our glance's sake
Of reason, one boasteth; another idle talk doth weave:
Come and to the just Umpire these disputes leave.
Come with us to the tavern if the Garden of Eden thou pine for;
So thee, we may cast at once into the pool of abundance galore.
In Shiraz, the verse, and eloquence, they do not know:
HAFIZ! Come so to another Land, we may go.

(Translated by Ismail Salami)

~ Hafiz, Sweet Melody
,

103:FROM out the street of So-and-So,
Oh wind, bring perfumes sweet to me
For I am sick and pale with woe;
Oh bring me rest from misery!
The dust that lies before her door,
Love's long desired elixir, pour
Upon this wasted heart of mine--
Bring me a promise and a sign!

Between the ambush of mine eyes
And my heart's fort there's enmity--
Her eye-brow's bow, the dart that flies,
Beneath her lashes, bring to me!
Sorrow and absence, glances cold,
Before my time have made me old;
A wine-cup from the hand of Youth
Bring me for pity and for ruth!

Then shall all unbelievers taste
A draught or two of that same wine;
But if they like it not, oh haste!
And let joy's flowing cup be mine.
Cup-bearer, seize to-day, nor wait
Until to-morrow!--or from Fate
Some passport to felicity,
Some written surety bring to me!

My heart threw back the veil of woe,
Consoled by Hafiz melody:
From out the street of So-and-So,
Oh wind, bring perfumes sweet to me!

~ Hafiz, Bring Perfumes Sweet To Me
,

104:O nightingale! Bewail if my love thou desire.
For, we are weeping lovers; yet, tear is our task dire.
Where bloweth a perfumed breeze from the Friend's hair,
The Tartary musk-pods lose the aroma once so rare.
Give wine so we may the robe of hypocrisy dye;
For we are intoxicated with pride; yet, sober are we, aye.
To devise a fancy for Thy tress, fools do not care
To get into the chains of love is what the bold souls dare.
'Tis a deep charm which wakes the lover's flame
Not ruby lip, nor verdant down its name
Beauty is not the eye, lock, cheek and mole
A thousand subtle points the heart control.
The wayfarers purchase not for half a corn,
The satin coat that void of skill is born.
Difficult it seemeth to reach the Threshold of Thy Love:
Aye, difficult as ascending to the rooftop of the heaven above
At dawn, in a dream, to the abode of the Beloved did I wend:
Oh happy the dream in which one mayest see the Darling Friend.
HAFIZ! Wound not His heart with tears, and end:
For, eternal salvation in love doth bend

(Translated by Ismail Salami)

~ Hafiz, Bold Souls
,

105:/Farsi Now that I have raised the glass of pure wine to my lips, The nightingale starts to sing! Go to the librarian and ask for the book of this bird's songs, and Then go out into the desert. Do you really need college to read this book? Break all your ties with people who profess to teach, and learn from the Pure Bird. From Pole to Pole the news of those sitting in quiet solitude is spreading. On the front page of the newspaper, the alcoholic Chancellor of the University Said: "Wine is illegal. It's even worse than living off charity." It's not important whether we drink Gallo or Mouton Cadet: drink up! And be happy, for whatever our Winebringer brings is the essence of grace. The stories of the greed and fantasies of all the so-called "wise ones" Remind me of the mat-weavers who tell tourists that each strand is a yarn of gold. Hafiz says: The town's forger of false coins is also president of the city bank. So keep quiet, and hoard life's subtleties. A good wine is kept for drinking, never sold. [1512.jpg] -- from Drunk on the Wine of the Beloved: 100 Poems of Hafiz, by Thomas Rain Crowe

~ Hafiz, The Essence of Grace
,

106:WHERE is my ruined life, and where the fame
Of noble deeds?
Look on my long-drawn road, and whence it came,
And where it leads!

Can drunkenness be linked to piety
And good repute?
Where is the preacher's holy monody,
Where is the lute?

From monkish cell and lying garb released,
Oh heart of mine,
Where is the Tavern fane, the Tavern priest,
Where is the wine?

Past days of meeting, let the memory
Of you be sweet!
Where are those glances fled, and where for me
Reproaches meet?

His friend's bright face warms not the enemy
When love is done--
Where is the extinguished lamp that made night day,
Where is the sun?

Balm to mine eyes the dust, my head I bow
Upon thy stair.
Where shall I go, where from thy presence? thou
Art everywhere.

Look not upon the dimple of her chin,
Danger lurks there!
Where wilt thou hide, oh trembling heart, fleeing in
Such mad haste--where?

To steadfastness and patience, friend, ask not
If Hafiz keep--
Patience and steadfastness I have forgot,
And where is sleep?

~ Hafiz, Where Is My Ruined Life?
,

107:The Angel Flame
House in thy soul the flickerless lamp of love;
O way- lost dupe, relume the angel flame
In the wistful temple of dream: nurse in faith’s grove
The memorial rose of peace no thorn may shame.
Delivered from thy passions’ lurid gleams
And shadowing greeds, foes in the guise of friends,
Know: in the deep of hush the soul redeems:
She is the vanguard morn to darkness sends.
Her children in gloom, thy Motherland mourns and sighs,
Play Beauty’s flute like Krishna: thou art He.
If thou wilt wake- the world, a-quiver, shall rise
And mitred priests of love sing on with thee.
Hate never pays, though sorrows purify;
Be poised in thy Self of love – incarnate, free.
If love resign who shall reveal the sky?
Soul’s night is doom: her dawn – sure victory.
Be pledged to noble ways of the ancient Sun;
If lose thou must, let it be life – not love.
Shall clouds besiege thy star – dominion?
“Up! Time is fleeting!” – the bugle calls above!
[Translated by ~ Dilip Kumar Roy

, from the Hindu Song of the Poet Abul Hafiz
Jalandhari]
~ Dilip Kumar Roy,

108: Of Paradise, O hermit wise,
Let us renounce the thought.
Of old therein our names of sin
Allah recorded not.

Who dear to God on earthly sod
No corn-grain plants,
The same is glad that life is had,
Though corn he wants.

Thy mind the mosque and cool kiosk,
Spare fast, and orisons;
Mine me allows the drink-house,
And sweet chase of the nuns.

O just fakeer, with brow austere,
Forbid me not the vine;
On the first day, poor Hafiz clay
Was kneaded up with wine.

He is no dervise, Heaven slights his service,
Who shall refuse
There in the banquet, to pawn his blanket
For Schiraz's juice.

Who his friend's shirt, or hem of his shirt,
Shall spare to pledge,
To him Eden's bliss and Angel's kiss
Shall want their edge.

Up, Hafiz; grace from high God's face
Beams on thee pure;
Shy then not hell, and trust thou well,
Heaven is secure.
by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson, From the Persian of Hafiz II
,

109:THE rose is not fair without the beloved's face,
Nor merry the Spring without the sweet laughter of wine;
The path through the fields, and winds from a flower strewn place,
Without her bright check, which glows like a tulip fine,
Nor winds softly blowing, fields deep in corn, are fair.

And lips like to sugar, grace like a flower that sways,
Are nought without kisses many and dalliance sweet;
If thousands of voices sang not the rose's praise,
The joy of the cypress her opening bud to greet,
Nor dancing of boughs nor blossoming rose were fair.

Though limned by most skilful fingers, no pictures please
Unless the beloved's image is drawn therein;
The garden and flowers, and hair flowing loose on the breeze,
Unless to my Lady's side I may strive and win,
Nor garden, nor flowers, nor loose flying curls are fair.

Hast seen at a marriage-feast, when the mirth runs high,
The revellers scatter gold with a careless hand?
The gold of thy heart, oh Hafiz, despised doth lie,
Not worthy thy love to be cast by a drunken band
At the feet of her who is fairer than all that's fair.

~ Hafiz, The Rose Is Not Fair
,

110:/Farsi Hey you, parrot! speaking in riddles, Sugar wouldn't melt in your mouth! Clear your head so your heart will be happy, And then mimic the words of the Beloved! To everyone who walks by, you have given mixed messages; For God's sake, tell us something we don't know. O Winebringer, throw some of Your best wine in our face, For it is time to wake up! What chord was it last night that the Minstrel played That caused the drunk and the pious both to dance? What drug did You put in their cups That caused them to lose both their hats and their heads? Not even to Alexander the Great would Your lovers give the Wine of Life; He hadn't the power or the gold for that price. Today, treason is the currency of the world, But compared with Love, even alchemy has lost its flash. Come, and listen to our stories of pain; Even with few words, the truth is still there. O Lord, don't tell our secrets to those who don't drink; One cannot give a picture on the wall Your enlightened touch. To a millionaire, money is the standard of the world; Hafiz says: O beggars, I have exchanged all my money for these poems! [1512.jpg] -- from Drunk on the Wine of the Beloved: 100 Poems of Hafiz, by Thomas Rain Crowe

~ Hafiz, It Is Time to Wake Up!
,

111:English. I believe the ultimate gauge of success is this: Does the text free the reader? Does it contribute to our physical and emotional health? Does it put “golden tools” into our hands that can help excavate the Beloved whom we and society have buried so deep inside? Persian poets of Hafiz’s era would often address themselves in their poems, making the poem an intimate conversation. This was also a method of “signing” the poem, as one might sign a letter to a friend, or a painting. It should also be noted that sometimes Hafiz speaks as a seeker, other times as a master and guide. Hafiz also has a unique vocabulary of names for God—as one might have endearing pet names for one’s own family members. To Hafiz, God is more than just the Father, the Mother, the Infinite, or a Being beyond comprehension. Hafiz gives God a vast range of names, such as Sweet Uncle, the Generous Merchant, the Problem Giver, the Problem Solver, the Friend, the Beloved. The words Ocean, Sky, Sun, Moon, and Love, among others, when capitalized in these poems, can sometimes be synonyms for God, as it is a Hafiz trait to offer these poems to many levels of interpretation simultaneously. To Hafiz, God is Someone we can meet, enter, and eternally explore. ~ Hafez,

112:Hafiz Muhamed bi me slušao rastreseno, sa smiješkom koji ništa ne kazuje. Živio je nagnut nad požutjelim knjigama istorije. Za ovog čudnog čovjeka, tad sam mu zavidio na tome, kao da je postojalo samo vrijeme koje je prošlo, pa i ovo vrijeme je samo vrijeme koje će proći. Rijetko je ko bio tako srećno isključen iz života kao on. Godinama je lutao po istoku, tragajući u čuvenim bibliotekama za istorijskim djelima, i vratio se u svoj rodni kraj, sa velikim zavežljajem knjiga, siromašan a bogat, pun znanja koje nikome nije trebalo, osim njemu. Iz njega je izlazilo znanje kao rijeka, kao potop, zatrpavala su te imena, zbivanja, strah te hvatao od gužve što je u tom čovjeku živjela kao da sad postoji, kao da to nisu aveti i sjenke već živi ljudi koji neprestano djeluju, u nekoj strašnoj vječnosti postojanja. U Carigradu ga je jedan oficir tri pune godine poučavao i astronomiji, i zbog te dvije nauke on je sve u stvari mjerio ogromnim prostranstvom neba i vremena. Mislio sam da i on piše istoriju našeg doba, ali sam posumnjao, jer su u njemu događaji i ljudi dobijali razmjere veličine i značaja tek kad su bili mrtvi. On je mogao da piše samo filozofiju istorije, beznadnu filozofiju neljudskih razmjera, ravnodušan za običan život koji traje. ~ Me a Selimovi,

113:Why
Just ask the donkey in me
To speak to the donkey in you,

When I have so many other beautiful animals
And brilliant colored birds inside
That are longing to say something wonderful
And exciting to your heart?

Let's open all the locked doors upon our eyes
That keep us from knowing the Intelligence
That begets love
And a more lively and satisfying conversation
With the Friend.

Let's turn loose our golden falcons
So that they can meet in the sky
Where our spirits belong--
Necking like two
Hot kids.

Let's hold hands and get drunk near the sun
And sing sweet songs to God
Until He joins us with a few notes
From his own sublime lute and drum.

If you have a better idea
Of how to pass a lonely night
After your glands may have performed
All their little magic
Then speak up sweethearts, speak up,
For Hafiz and all the world will listen.

Why just bring your donkey to me
Asking for stale hay
And a boring conference with the idiot
In regards to this precious matter--
Such a precious matter as love,

When I have so many other divine animals
And brilliant colored birds inside
That are all longing
To so sweetly
Greet
You! ~ Hafez,

114:Your False Self is who you think you are. Your thinking does not make it true. Your False Self is almost entirely a social construct to get you started on your life journey. It is a set of agreements between your childhood and your parents, your family, your neighbors, your school chums, your partner or spouse, and your religion. It is your “container” for your separate self. 4 Jesus would call it your “wineskin,” which he points out usually cannot hold any new wine (Mark 2: 21–22). Your ego container likes to stay “contained” and hates change. Your False Self is how you define yourself outside of love, relationship, or divine union. After you have spent many years laboriously building this separate self, with all its labels and preoccupations, you are very attached to it. And why wouldn’t you be? It’s what you know and all you know. To move beyond it will always feel like losing or dying. Perhaps you have noticed that master teachers like Jesus and the Buddha, St. Francis, all the “Teresas” (Avila, Lisieux, and Calcutta), Hafiz, Kabir, and Rumi talk about dying much more than we are comfortable with. They all know that if you do not learn the art of dying and letting go early, you will hold onto your False Self far too long, until it kills you anyway. ~ Richard Rohr,

115:Where are the tidings of union? that I may arise-
Forth from the dust I will rise up to welcome thee!
My soul, like a homing bird, yearning for Paradise,
Shall arise and soar, from the snares of the world set free.
When the voice of thy love shall call me to be thy slave,
I shall rise to a greater far than the mastery
Of life and the living, time and the mortal span:
Pour down, oh Lord! from the clouds of thy guiding grace.
The rain of a mercy that quickeneth on my grave,
Before, like dust that the wind bears from place to place,
I arise and flee beyond the knowledge of man.
When to my grave thou turnest thy blessed feet,
Wine and the lute thou shalt bring in thine hand to me,
Thy voice shall ring through the folds of my winding-sheet,
And I will arise and dance to thy minstrelsy.
Though I be old, clasp me one night to thy breast,
And I, when the dawn shall come to awaken me,
With the flush of youth on my check from thy bosom will rise.
Rise up! let mine eyes delight in thy stately grace!
Thou art the goal to which all men's endeavour has pressed,
And thou the idol of Hafiz' worship; thy face
From the world and life shall bid him come forth and arise!

- Translated by: Gertrude Bell

~ Hafiz, Tidings Of Union
,

116:/Farsi We have turned the face of our dawn studies toward the drunkard's road. The harvest of our prayers we've turned toward the granary of the ecstatic soul. The fire toward which we have turned our face is so intense It would set fire to the straw harvest of a hundred reasonable men. The Sultan of Pre-Eternity gave us the casket of love's grief as a gift; Therefore we have turned our sorrow toward this dilapidated traveller's cabin that we call "the world." From now on I will leave no doors in my heart open for love of beautiful creatures; I have turned and set the seal of divine lips on the door of this house. It's time to turn away from make-believe under our robes patched so many times. The foundation for our work is an intelligence that sees through all these games. We have turned our face to the pearl lying on the ocean floor. So why then should we worry if this wobbly old boat keeps going or not? We turn to the intellectuals and call them parasites of reason; Thank God they are like true lovers faithless and without heart. The Sufis have settled for a fantasy, and Hafez is no different. How far out of reach our goals, and how weak our wills are! [2402.jpg] -- from The Soul is Here for its Own Joy: Sacred Poems from Many Cultures, Edited by Robert Bly

~ Hafiz, The Pearl on the Ocean Floor
,

117:The margin of a stream, the willow's shade,
A mind inclined to song, a mistress sweet,
A Cup-bearer whose cheek outshines the rose,
A friend upon whose heart thy heart is laid:
Oh Happy-starred! let not thine hours fleet
Unvalued; may each minute as it goes
Lay tribute of enjoyment at thy feet,
That thou may'st live and know thy life is sweet.

Let every one upon whose heart desire
For a fair face lies like a burden sore,
That all his hopes may reach their goal unchecked,
Throw branches of wild rue upon his fire.
My soul is like a bride, with a rich store
Of maiden thoughts and jewelled fancies decked,
And in Time's gallery I yet may meet
Some picture meant for me, some image sweet.
Give thanks for nights spent in good company,
And take the gifts a tranquil mind may bring;
No heart is dark when the kind moon doth shine,
And grass-grown river-banks are fair to see.
The Saki's radiant eyes, God favouring,
Are like a wine-cup brimming o'er with wine,
And him my drunken sense goes out to greet,
For e'en the pain he leaves behind is sweet.
Hafiz, thy life has sped untouched by care,
With me towards the tavern turn thy feet!
The fairest robbers thou'lt encounter there,
And they will teach thee what to learn is sweet.

~ Hafiz, The Margin Of A Stream
,

118: MIRTH, Spring, to linger in a garden fair,
What more has earth to give? All ye that wait,
Where is the Cup-bearer, the flagon where?
When pleasant hours slip from the hand of Fate,
Reckon each hour as a certain gain;
Who seeks to know the end of mortal care
Shall question his experience in vain.

Thy fettered life hangs on a single thread--
Some comfort for thy present ills devise,
But those that time may bring thou shalt not dread.
Waters of Life and Irem's Paradise--
What meaning do our dreams and pomp convey,
Save that beside a mighty stream, wide-fed,
We sit and sing of wine and go our way!

The modest and the merry shall be seen
To boast their kinship with a single voice;
There are no differences to choose between,
Thou art but flattering thy soul with choice!
Who knows the Curtain's secret? . . . Heaven is mute
And yet with Him who holds the Curtain, e'en
With Him, oh Braggart, thou would'st raise dispute!

Although His thrall shall miss the road and err,
'Tis but to teach him wisdom through distress,
Else Pardon and Compassionate Mercy were
But empty syllables and meaningless.
The Zealot thirsts for draughts of Kausar's wine,
And Hafiz doth an earthly cup prefer--
But what, between the two, is God's design?
~ Hafiz, To Linger In A Garden Fair
,

119:I know the way you can get when you have not had a drink of Love:
Your face hardens, your sweet muscles cramp.
Children become concerned about a strange look that appears in your eyes
Which even begins to worry your own mirror and nose.
Squirrels and birds sense your sadness and call an important conference in a tall tree.
They decide which secret code to chant to help your mind and soul.
Even angels fear that brand of madness that arrays itself against the world
And throws sharp stones and spears into the innocent and into ones self.
O I know the way you can get if you have not been drinking Love:
You might rip apart every sentence your friends and teachers say, looking for hidden clauses.
You might weigh every word on a scale like a dead fish.
You might pull out a ruler to measure from every angle in your darkness
The beautiful dimensions of a heart you once trusted.
I know the way you can get if you have not had a drink from Loves hands.
That is why all the Great Ones speak of the vital need to keep remembering God,
So you will come to know and see Him as being so playful and wanting, just wanting to help.
That is why Hafiz says: bring your cup near me, for all I care about is quenching
your thirst for freedom!
All a sane man can ever care about is giving Love!

~ Hafiz, I Know The Way You Can Get
,

120:The bird of gardens sang unto the rose,
New blown in the clear dawn: 'Bow down thy head!
As fair as thou within this garden close,
Many have bloomed and died.' She laughed and said
'That I am born to fade grieves not my heart
But never was it a true lover's part
To vex with bitter words his love's repose.'

The tavern step shall be thy hostelry,
For Love's diviner breath comes but to those
That suppliant on the dusty threshold lie.
And thou, if thou would'st drink the wine that flows
From Life's bejewelled goblet, ruby red,
Upon thine eyelashes thine eyes shall thread
A thousand tears for this temerity.
Last night when Irem's magic garden slept,
Stirring the hyacinth's purple tresses curled,
The wind of morning through the alleys stept.
'Where is thy cup, the mirror of the world?
Ah, where is Love, thou Throne of Djem?' I cried.
The breezes knew not; but 'Alas,' they sighed,
'That happiness should sleep so long!' and wept.
Not on the lips of men Love's secret lies,
Remote and unrevealed his dwelling-place.
Oh Saki, come! the idle laughter dies
When thou the feast with heavenly wine dost grace.
Patience and wisdom, Hafiz, in a sea
Of thine own tears are drowned; thy misery
They could not still nor hide from curious eyes.

Translated by: Gertrude Bell
~ Hafiz, The Bird Of Gardens
,

121:The rose has flushed red, the bud has burst,
And drunk with joy is the nightingale
Hail, Sufis! lovers of wine, all hail!
For wine is proclaimed to a world athirst.
Like a rock your repentance seemed to you;
Behold the marvel! of what avail
Was your rock, for a goblet has cleft it in two!

Bring wine for the king and the slave at the gate
Alike for all is the banquet spread,
And drunk and sober are warmed and fed.
When the feast is done and the night grows late,
And the second door of the tavern gapes wide,
The low and. the mighty must bow the head
'Neath the archway of Life, to meet what . . . outside?

Except thy road through affliction pass,
None may reach the halting-station of mirth
God's treaty: Am I not Lord of the earth?
Man sealed with a sigh: Ah yes, alas!
Nor with Is nor Is Not let thy mind contend
Rest assured all perfection of mortal birth
In the great Is Not at the last shall end.

For Assaf's pomp, and the steeds of the wind,
And the speech of birds, down the wind have fled,
And he that was lord of them all is dead;
Of his mastery nothing remains behind.
Shoot not thy feathered arrow astray!
A bow-shot's length through the air it has sped,
And then . . . dropped down in the dusty way.

But to thee, oh Hafiz, to thee, oh Tongue
That speaks through the mouth of the slender reed,
What thanks to thee when thy verses speed
From lip to lip, and the song thou hast sung?

~ Hafiz, The Rose Has Flushed Red
,

122:Arise! and fill a golden goblet up
Until the wine of pleasure overflow,
Before into thy skull's pale empty cup
A grimmer Cup-bearer the dust shall throw.
Yea, to the Vale of Silence we must come;
Yet shall the flagon laugh and Heaven's dome
Thrill with an answering echo ere we go!
Thou knowest that the riches of this field
Make no abiding, let the goblet's fire
Consume the fleeting harvest Earth may yield!
Oh Cypress-tree! green home of Love's sweet choir,
When I unto the dust I am have passed,
Forget thy former wantonness, and cast
Thy shadow o'er the dust of my desire.
Flow, bitter tears, and wash me clean! for they
Whose feet are set upon the road that lies
Twixt Earth and Heaven Thou shalt be pure,' they say,
'Before unto the pure thou lift thine eyes.'
Seeing but himself, the Zealot sees but sin;
Grief to the mirror of his soul let in,
Oh Lord, and cloud it with the breath of sighs!
No tainted eye shall gaze upon her face,
No glass but that of an unsullied heart
Shall dare reflect my Lady's perfect grace.
Though like to snakes that from the herbage start,
Thy curling locks have wounded me full sore,
Thy red lips hold the power of the bezoar-
Ah, touch and heat me where I lie apart!
And when from her the wind blows perfume sweet,
Tear, Hafiz, like the rose, thy robe in two,
And cast thy rags beneath her flying feet,
To deck the place thy mistress passes through.

Translated by: Gertrude Bell
~ Hafiz, Arise And Fill A Golden Goblet
,

123:SLAVES of thy shining eyes are even those
That diadems of might and empire bear;
Drunk with the wine that from thy red lip flows,
Are they that e'en the grape's delight forswear.
Drift, like the wind across a violet bed,
Before thy many lovers, weeping low,
And clad like violets in blue robes of woe,
Who feel thy wind-blown hair and bow the head.

Thy messenger the breath of dawn, and mine
A stream of tears, since lover and beloved
Keep not their secret; through my verses shine,
Though other lays my flower's grace have proved
And countless nightingales have sung thy praise.
When veiled beneath thy curls thou passest, see,
To right and leftward those that welcome thee
Have bartered peace and rest on thee to gaze!

But thou that knowest God by heart, away!
Wine-drunk, love-drunk, we inherit Paradise,
His mercy is for sinners; hence and pray
Where wine thy cheek red as red erghwan dyes,
And leave the cell to faces sinister.
Oh Khizr, whose happy feet bathed in life's fount,
Help one who toils afoot-the horsemen mount
And hasten on their way; I scarce can stir.

Ah, loose me not! ah, set not Hafiz free
From out the bondage of thy gleaming hair!
Safe only those, safe, and at liberty,
That fast enchained in thy linked ringlets are.
But from the image of his dusty cheek
Learn this from Hafiz: proudest heads shall bend,
And dwellers on the threshold of a friend
Be crownd with the dust that crowns the meek.

~ Hafiz, Slaves Of Thy Shining Eyes
,

124:Wisdom Of Hafiz: The Philosopher Takes To Racing
My son, if you go to the races to battle with Ikey and Mo,
Remember, it's seldom the pigeon can pick out the eye of the crow;
Remember, they live by the business; remember, my son, and go slow.
If ever an owner should tell you, "Back mine" -- don't you be such a flat.
He knows his own cunning no doubt -- does he know what the others are at?
Find out what he's frightened of most, and invest a few dollars on that.
Walk not in the track of the trainer, nor hang round the rails at his stall.
His wisdom belongs to his patron -- shall he give it to one and to all?
When the stable is served he may tell you -- and his words are like jewels let fall.
Run wide of the tipster, who whispers that Borak is sure to be first,
He tells the next mug that he meets with a tale with the placings reversed;
And, remember, of judges of racing, the jockey's the absolute worst.
When they lay three to one on the field, and the runners are twenty-and-two,
Take a pull at yourself; take a pull -- it's a mighty big field to get through.
Is the club handicapper a fool? If a fool is about, p'raps it's you!
Beware of the critic who tells you the handicap's absolute rot,
For this is chucked in, and that's hopeless, and somebody ought to be shot.
How is it he can't make a fortune himself when he knows such a lot?
From tipsters, and jockeys, and trials, and gallops, the glory has gone,
For this is the wisdom of Hafiz that sages have pondered upon,
"The very best tip in the world is to see the commission go on!"
~ Banjo Paterson,

125:TRUE love has vanished from every heart;
What has befallen all lovers fair?
When did the bonds of friendship part?-
What has befallen the friends that were?
Ah, why are the feet of Khizr lingering?-
The waters of life are no longer clear,
The purple rose has turned pale with fear,
And what has befallen the wind of Spring?
None now sayeth: 'A love was mine,
Loyal and wise, to dispel my care.'
None remembers love's right divine;
What has befallen all lovers fair?
In the midst of the field, to the players' feet,
The ball of God's favour and mercy came,
But none has leapt forth to renew the game-
What has befallen the horsemen fleet?
Roses have bloomed, yet no bird rejoiced,
No vibrating throat has rung with the tale;
What can have silenced the hundred-voiced?
What has befallen the nightingale?
Heaven's music is hushed, and the planets roll
In silence; has Zohra broken her lute?
There is none to press out the vine's ripe fruit,
And what has befallen the foaming bowl?

A city where kings are but lovers crowned,
A land from the dust of which friendship springs-
Who has laid waste that enchanted ground?
What has befallen the city of kings?
Years have passed since a ruby was won
From the mine of manhood; they labour in vain,
The fleet-footed wind and the quickening rain,
And what has befallen the light of the sun?
Hafiz, the secret of God's dread task
No man knoweth, in youth or prime
Or in wisest age; of whom would'st thou ask:
What has befallen the wheels of Time?

Translated by: Gertrude Bell

~ Hafiz, True Love
,

126:THE days of absence and the bitter nights
Of separation, all are at an end!
Where is the influence of the star that blights
My hope? The omen answers: At an end!
Autumn's abundance, creeping Autumn's mirth,
Are ended and forgot when o'er the earth
The wind of Spring with soft warm feet doth wend.

The Day of Hope, hid beneath Sorrow's veil,
Has shown its face--ah, cry that all may hear:
Come forth! the powers of night no more prevail!
Praise be to God, now that the rose is near
With long-desired and flaming coronet,
The cruel stinging thorns all men forget,
The wind of Winter ends its proud career.

The long confusion of the nights that were,
Anguish that dwelt within my heart, is o'er;
'Neath the protection of my lady's hair
Grief nor disquiet come to me no more.
What though her curls wrought all my misery,
My lady's gracious face can comfort me,
And at the end give what I sorrow for.

Light-hearted to the tavern let me go,
Where laughs the pipe, the merry cymbals kiss;
Under the history of all my woe,
My mistress sets her hand and writes: Finis.
Oh, linger not, nor trust the inconstant days
That promised: Where thou art thy lady stays--
The tale of separation ends with this!

Joy's certain path, oh Saki, thou hast shown--
Long may thy cup be full, thy days be fair!
Trouble and sickness from my breast have flown,
Order and health thy wisdom marshals there.
Not one that numbered Hafiz' name among
The great-unnumbered were his tears, unsung;
Praise him that sets an end to endless care!

~ Hafiz, The Day Of Hope
,

127:NOT one is filled with madness like to mine
In all the taverns! my soiled robe lies here,
There my neglected book, both pledged for wine.
With dust my heart is thick, that should be clear,
A glass to mirror forth the Great King's face;
One ray of light from out Thy dwelling-place
To pierce my night, oh God! and draw me near.

From out mine eyes unto my garment's hem
A river flows; perchance my cypress-tree
Beside that stream may rear her lofty stem,
Watering her roots with tears. Ah, bring to me
The wine vessel! since my Love's cheek is hid,
A flood of grief comes from my heart unbid,
And turns mine eyes into a bitter sea!

Nay, by the hand that sells me wine, I vow
No more the brimming cup shall touch my lips,
Until my mistress with her radiant brow
Adorns my feast-until Love's secret slips
From her, as from the candle's tongue of flame,
Though I, the singd moth, for very shame,
Dare not extol Love's light without eclipse.

Red wine I worship, and I worship her--
Speak not to me of anything beside,
For nought but these on earth or heaven I care.
What though the proud narcissus flowers defied
Thy shining eyes to prove themselves more bright,
Yet heed them not! those that are clear of sight
Follow not them to whom all light's denied.

Before the tavern door a Christian sang
To sound of pipe and drum, what time the earth
Awaited the white dawn, and gaily rang
Upon mine ear those harbingers of mirth:
'If the True Faith be such as thou dost say,
Alas! my Hafiz, that this sweet To-day
Should bring unknown To-morrow to the birth!'

~ Hafiz, With Madness Like To Mine
,

128:Cypress and Tulip and sweet Eglantine,
Of these the tale from lip to lip is sent;
Washed by three cups, oh Saki, of thy wine,
My song shall turn upon this argument.
Spring, bride of all the meadows, rises up,
Clothed in her ripest beauty: fill the cup!
Of Spring's handmaidens runs this song of mine.

The sugar-loving birds of distant Ind,
Except a Persian sweetmeat that was brought
To fair Bengal, have found nought to their mind.
See how my song, that in one night was wrought,
Defies the limits set by space and time!
O'er plains and mountain-tops my fearless rhyme,
Child of a night, its year-long road shall find.

And thou whose sense is dimmed with piety,
Thou too shalt learn the magic of her eyes;
Forth comes the caravan of sorcery
When from those gates the blue-veined curtains rise.
And when she walks the flowery meadows through,
Upon the jasmine's shamd cheek the dew
Gathers like sweat, she is so fair to see!

Ah, swerve not from the path of righteousness
Though the world lure thee! like a wrinkled crone,
Hiding beneath her robe lasciviousness,
She plunders them that pause and heed her moan.
From Sinai Moses brings thee wealth untold;
Bow not thine head before the calf of gold
Like Samir, following after wickedness.

From the Shah's garden blows the wind of Spring,
The tulip in her lifted chalice bears
A dewy wine of Heaven's minist'ring
Until Ghiyasuddin, the Sultan, hears,
Sing, Hafiz, of thy longing for his face.
The breezes whispering round thy dwelling-place
Shall carry thy lament unto the King.

Translated by: Gertrude Bell

~ Hafiz, Cypress And Tulip
,

129:OH Cup-bearer, set my glass afire
With the light of wine! oh minstrel, sing:
The world fulfilleth my heart's desire!
Reflected within the goblet's ring
I see the glow of my Love's red cheek,
And scant of wit, ye who fail to seek
The pleasures that wine alone can bring!

Let not the blandishments be checked
That slender beauties lavish on me,
Until in the grace of the cypress decked,
My Love shall come like a ruddy pine-tree
He cannot perish whose heart doth hold
The life love breathes-though my days are told,
In the Book of the World lives my constancy.

But when the Day of Reckoning is here,
I fancy little will be the gain
That accrues to the Sheikh for his lawful cheer,
Or to me for the draught forbidden I drain.
The drunken eyes of my comrades shine,
And I too, stretching my hand to the wine,
On the neck of drunkenness loosen the rein.

Oh wind, if thou passest the garden close
Of my heart's dear master, carry for me
The message I send to him, wind that blows!
'Why hast thou thrust from thy memory
My hapless name?' breathe low in his ear;
'Knowest thou not that the day is near
When nor thou nor any shall think on me?'

If with tears, oh Hafiz, thine eyes are wet,
Scatter them round thee like grain, and snare
The Bird of joy when it comes to thy net.
As the tulip shrinks from the cold night air,
So shrank my heart and quailed in the shade
Oh Song-bird Fortune, the toils are laid,
When shall thy bright wings lie pinioned there?

The heavens' green sea and the bark therein,
The slender bark of the crescent moon,
Are lost in thy bounty's radiant noon,
Vizir and pilgrim, Kawameddin!

~ Hafiz, O Cup Bearer
,

130:NOT all the sum of earthly happiness
Is worth the bowed head of a moment's pain,
And if I sell for wine my dervish dress,
Worth more than what I sell is what I gain!
Land where my Lady dwells, thou holdest me
Enchained; else Fars were but a barren soil,
Not worth the journey over land and sea,
Not worth the toil!

Down in the quarter where they sell red wine,
My holy carpet scarce would fetch a cup
How brave a pledge of piety is mine,
Which is not worth a goblet foaming up!
Mine enemy heaped scorn on me and said
'Forth from the tavern gate!' Why am I thrust
From off the threshold? is my fallen head
Not worth the dust?

Wash white that travel-stained sad robe of thine!
Where word and deed alike one colour bear,
The grape's fair purple garment shall outshine
Thy many-coloured rags and tattered gear.
Full easy seemed the sorrow of the sea
Lightened by hope of gain--hope flew too fast
A hundred pearls were poor indemnity,
Not worth the blast.

The Sultan's crown, with priceless jewels set,
Encircles fear of death and constant dread
It is a head-dress much desired--and yet
Art sure 'tis worth the danger to the head?
'Twere best for thee to hide thy face from those
That long for thee; the Conqueror's reward
Is never worth the army's long-drawn woes,
Worth fire and sword.

Ah, seek the treasure of a mind at rest
And store it in the treasury of Ease;
Not worth a loyal heart, a tranquil breast,
Were all the riches of thy lands and seas!
Ah, scorn, like Hafiz, the delights of earth,
Ask not one grain of favour from the base,
Two hundred sacks of jewels were not worth
Thy soul's disgrace

~ Hafiz, Not Worth The Toil!
,

131:LADY that hast my heart within thy hand,
Thou heed'st me not; and if thou turn thine ear
Unto the wise, thou shalt not understand--
Behold the fault is thine, our words were clear.
For all the tumult in my drunken brain
Praise God! who trieth not His slave in vain;
Nor this world nor the next shall make me fear!

My weary heart eternal silence keeps--
I know not who has slipped into my heart;
Though I am silent, one within me weeps.
My soul shall rend the painted veil apart.
Where art thou, Minstrel! touch thy saddest strings
Till clothed in music such as sorrow sings,
My mournful story from thy zither sweeps.

Lo, not at any time I lent mine ear
To hearken to the glories of the earth;
Only thy beauty to mine eyes was dear.
Sleep has forsaken me, and from the birth
Of night till day I weave bright dreams of thee;
Drunk with a hundred nights of revelry,
Where is the tavern that sets forth such cheer!

My heart, sad hermit, stains the cloister floor
With drops of blood, the sweat of anguish dire;
Ah, wash me clean, and o'er my body pour
Love's generous wine! the worshippers of fire
Have bowed them down and magnified my name,
For in my heart there burns a living flame,
Transpiercing Death's impenetrable door.

What instrument through last night's silence rang?
My life into his lay the minstrel wove,
And filled my brain with the sweet song he sang.
It was the proclamation of thy love
That shook the strings of Life's most secret lyre,
And still my breast heaves with last night's desire,
For countless echoes from that music sprang.

And ever, since the time that Hafiz heard
His Lady's voice, as from a rocky hill
Reverberates the softly spoken word,
So echoes of desire his bosom fill.

~ Hafiz, Lady That Hast My Heart
,

132:WHAT is wrought in the forge of the living and life--
All things are nought! Ho! fill me the bowl,
For nought is the gear of the world and the strife!
One passion has quickened the heart and the soul,
The Beloved's presence alone they have sought--
Love at least exists; yet if Love were not,
Heart and soul would sink to the common lot--
All things are nought!

Like an empty cup is the fate of each,
That each must fill from Life's mighty flood;
Nought thy toil, though to Paradise gate thou reach,
If Another has filled up thy cup with blood;
Neither shade from the sweet-fruited trees could be bought
By thy praying-oh Cypress of Truth, dost not see
That Sidreh and Tuba were nought, and to thee
All then were nought!

The span of thy life is as five little days,
Brief hours and swift in this halting-place;
Rest softly, ah rest! while the Shadow delays,
For Time's self is nought and the dial's face.
On the lip of Oblivion we linger, and short
Is the way from the Lip to the Mouth where we pass
While the moment is thine, fill, oh Saki, the glass
Ere all is nought!

Consider the rose that breaks into flower,
Neither repines though she fade and die--
The powers of the world endure for an hour,
But nought shall remain of their majesty.
Be not too sure of your crown, you who thought
That virtue was easy and recompense yours;
From the monastery to the wine-tavern doors
The way is nought

What though I, too, have tasted the salt of my tears,
Though I, too, have burnt in the fires of grief,
Shall I cry aloud to unheeding ears?
Mourn and be silent! nought brings relief.
Thou, Hafiz, art praised for the songs thou hast wrought,
But bearing a stained or an honoured name,
The lovers of wine shall make light of thy fame--
All things are nought!

~ Hafiz, Lifes Mighty Flood
,

133:THE secret draught of wine and love repressed
Are joys foundationless--then come whate'er
May come, slave to the grape I stand confessed!
Unloose, oh friend, the knot of thy heart's care,
Despite the warning that the Heavens reveal!
For all his thought, never astronomer
That loosed the knot of Fate those Heavens conceal!

Not all the changes that thy days unfold
Shall rouse thy wonder; Time's revolving sphere
Over a thousand lives like thine has rolled.
That cup within thy fingers, dost not hear
The voices of dead kings speak through the clay
Kobad, Bahman, Djemshid, their dust is here,
'Gently upon me set thy lips!' they say.

What man can tell where Kaus and Kai have gone?
Who knows where even now the restless wind
Scatters the dust of Djem's imperial throne?
And where the tulip, following close behind
The feet of Spring, her scarlet chalice rears,
There Ferhad for the love of Shirin pined,
Dyeing the desert red with his heart's tears.

Bring, bring the cup! drink we while yet we may
To our soul's ruin the forbidden draught
Perhaps a treasure-trove is hid away
Among those ruins where the wine has laughed!--
Perhaps the tulip knows the fickleness
Of Fortune's smile, for on her stalk's green shaft
She bears a wine-cup through the wilderness.

The murmuring stream of Ruknabad, the breeze
That blows from out Mosalla's fair pleasaunce,
Summon me back when I would seek heart's ease,
Travelling afar; what though Love's countenance
Be turned full harsh and sorrowful on me,
I care not so that Time's unfriendly glance
Still from my Lady's beauty turned be.

Like Hafiz, drain the goblet cheerfully
While minstrels touch the lute and sweetly sing,
For all that makes thy heart rejoice in thee
Hangs of Life's single, slender, silken string.

~ Hafiz, The Secret Draught Of Wine
,

134:S. H.

With beams December planets dart
His cold eye truth and conduct scanned,
July was in his sunny heart,
October in his liberal hand.
A. H.

High was her heart, and yet was well inclined,
Her manners made of bounty well refined;
Far capitals, and marble courts, her eye still seemed to see,
Minstrels, and kings, and high-born dames, and of the best that be.
"SUUM CUIQUE."

Wilt thou seal up the avenues of ill?
Pay every debt, as if God wrote the bill.
HUSH!

Every thought is public,
Every nook is wide;
Thy gossips spread each whisper,
And the gods from side to side.
ORATOR.

He who has no hands
Perforce must use his tongue;
Foxes are so cunning
Because they are not strong.
ARTIST.

Quit the hut, frequent the palace,
Reck not what the people say;
For still, where'er the trees grow biggest,
Huntsmen find the easiest way.
POET.

Ever the Poet from the land
Steers his bark, and trims his sail;
Right out to sea his courses stand,
New worlds to find in pinnace frail.
POET.

To clothe the fiery thought
In simple words succeeds,
For still the craft of genius is
To mask a king in weeds.
BOTANIST.

Go thou to thy learned task,
I stay with the flowers of spring:
Do thou of the ages ask
What me the flowers will bring.
GARDENER.

True Bramin, in the morning meadows wet,
Expound the Vedas of the violet,
Or, hid in vines, peeping through many a loop,
See the plum redden, and the beurre stoop.
FORESTER.

He took the colour of his vest
From rabbit's coat or grouse's breast;
For, as the wood-kinds lurk and hide,
So walks the woodman, unespied.
NORTHMAN.

The gale that wrecked you on the sand,
It helped my rowers to row;
The storm is my best galley hand,
And drives me where I go.
FROM ALCUIN.

The sea is the road of the bold,
Frontier of the wheat-sown plains,
The pit wherein the streams are rolled,
And fountain of the rains.
EXCELSIOR.

Over his head were the maple buds,
And over the tree was the moon,
And over the moon were the starry studs,
That drop from the angel's shoon.
BORROWING.
FROM THE FRENCH.

Some of your hurts you have cured,
And the sharpest you still have survived,
But what torments of grief you endured
From evils which never arrived!
NATURE.

Boon Nature yields each day a brag which we now first behold,
And trains us on to slight the new, as if it were the old:
But blest is he, who, playing deep, yet haply asks not why,
Too busied with the crowded hour to fear to live or die.
FATE.

Her planted eye to-day controls,
Is in the morrow most at home,
And sternly calls to being souls
That curse her when they come.
HOROSCOPE.

Ere he was born, the stars of fate
Plotted to make him rich and great:
When from the womb the babe was loosed,
The gate of gifts behind him closed.
POWER.

Cast the bantling on the rocks,
Suckle him with the she-wolf's teat,
Wintered with the hawk and fox,
Power and speed be hands and feet.
CLIMACTERIC.

I am not wiser for my age,
Nor skilful by my grief;
Life loiters at the book's first page,--
Ah! could we turn the leaf.
HERI, CRAS, HODIE.

Shines the last age, the next with hope is seen,
To-day slinks poorly off unmarked between:
Future or Past no richer secret folds,
O friendless Present! than thy bosom holds.
MEMORY.

Night-dreams trace on Memory's wall
Shadows of the thoughts of day,
And thy fortunes, as they fall,
The bias of the will betray.
LOVE.

Love on his errand bound to go
Can swim the flood, and wade through snow,
Where way is none, 'twill creep and wind
And eat through Alps its home to find.
SACRIFICE.

Though love repine, and reason chafe,
There came a voice without reply,--
''Tis man's perdition to be safe,
When for the truth he ought to die.'
PERICLES.

Well and wisely said the Greek,
Be thou faithful, but not fond;
To the altar's foot thy fellow seek,
The Furies wait beyond.
CASELLA.

Test of the poet is knowledge of love,
For Eros is older than Saturn or Jove;
Never was poet, of late or of yore,
Who was not tremulous with love-lore.
SHAKSPEARE.

I see all human wits
Are measured but a few,
Unmeasured still my Shakspeare sits,
Lone as the blessed Jew.
HAFIZ.

Her passions the shy violet
From Hafiz never hides;
Love-longings of the raptured bird
The bird to him confides.
NATURE IN LEASTS.

As sings the pine-tree in the wind,
So sings in the wind a sprig of the pine;
Her strength and soul has laughing France
Shed in each drop of wine.
[GREEK TITLE].

'A new commandment,' said the smiling Muse,
'I give my darling son, Thou shalt not preach;'--
Luther, Fox, Behmen, Swedenborg, grew pale,
And, on the instant, rosier clouds upbore
Hafiz and Shakspeare with their shining choirs.
by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson, Quatrains
,

135: Butler, fetch the ruby wine,
Which with sudden greatness fills us;
Pour for me who in my spirit
Fail in courage and performance;
Bring the philosophic stone,
Karun's treasure, Noah's life;
Haste, that by thy means I open
All the doors of luck and life.
Bring me, boy, the fire-water
Zoroaster sought in dust.
To Hafiz revelling 'tis allowed
To pray to Matter and to Fire.
Bring the wine of Jamschid's glass
That shone, ere time was, in the Nant.

Give it me, that through its virtue
I, as Jamschid, see through worlds.
Wisely said the Kaiser Jamschid,
This world's not worth a barleycorn.
Bring me, boy, the nectar cup,
Since it leads to Paradise.
Flute and lyre lordly speak,
Lees of wine outvalue crowns.
Hither bring the veiled beauty
Who in ill-famed houses sits:
Lead her forth: my honest name
Freely barter I for wine.
Bring me, boy, the fire-water,
Drinks the lionthe woods burn.
Give it me, that I storm heaven,
Tear the net from the arch-wolf.
Wine, wherewith the Houris teach
Angels the ways of Paradise.
On the glowing coals I'll set it,
And therewith my brain perfume.
Bring me wine, through whose effulgence
Jam and Chosroes yielded light:
Wine, that to the flute I sing
Where is Jam, and where is Kauss.

Bring the blessing of old times;
Bless the old departed Shahs;
Bring it me, the Shah of hearts.
Bring me wine to wash me clean,
Of the weather-stains of care,
See the countenance of luck.
While I dwell in spirit-gardens,
Wherefore sit I shackled here?
Lo, this mirror shows me all.
Drunk, I speak of purity,
Beggar, I of lordship speak.
When Hafiz in his revel sings,
Shouteth Sohra in her sphere.

Fear the changes of a day:
Bring wine which increases life,
Since the world is all untrue,
Let the trumpets thee remind
How the crown of Kobad vanished.
Be not certain of the world;
'Twill not spare to shed thy blood.
Desperate of the world's affair,
Came I running to the wine-house.
Give me wine which maketh glad,
That I may my steed bestride,
Through the course career with Rustem,
Gallop to my heart's content.
Give me, boy, the ruby cup
Which unlocks the heart with wine,
That I reason quite renounce,
And plant banners on the worlds.
Let us make our glasses kiss,
Let us quench the sorrow-cinders:
To-day let us drink together.
Whoso has a banquet dressed,
Is with glad mind satisfied,
'Scaping from the snares of Dews.

Alas for youth! 'tis gone in wind,
Happy he who spent it well.
Give me wine, that I o'erleap
Both worlds at a single spring,
Stole at dawn from glowing spheres
Call of Houris to mine ear;
"O happy bird! delicious soul!
Spread thy pinion, break the cage;
Sit on the roof of the seven domes,
Where the spirit takes repose."
In the time of Bisurdschimihr,
Menutscheher's beauty shined,
On the beaker of Nushirvan,
Wrote they once in eider times,
"Hear the Counsel, learn from us
Sample of the course of things;
Earth, it is a place of sorrow,
Scanty joys are here below,
Who has nothing, has no sorrow."

Where is Jam, and where his cup?
Solomon, and his mirror where?
Which of the wise masters knows
What time Kauss and Jam existed?
When those heroes left this world,
Left they nothing but their names.
Bind thy heart not to the earth,
When thou goest, come not back.
Fools squander on the world their hearts.
League with it, is feud with heaven;
Never gives it what thou wishest.

A cup of wine imparts the sight
Of the five heaven-domes with nine steps:
Whoso can himself renounce,
Without support shall walk thereon.
Who discreet is, is not wise.
Give me, boy, the Kaiser cup,
Which rejoices heart and soul;
Under type of wine and cup
Signify we purest love.
Youth like lightning disappears,
Life goes by us as the wind:
Leave the dwelling with six doors,
And the serpent with nine heads;
Life and silver spend thou freely,
If thou honorest the soul.
Haste into the other life;
All is nought save God alone.
Give me, boy, this toy of dmons.
When the cup of Jam was lost,
Him availed the world no more.
Fetch the wine-glass made of ice,
Wake the torpid heart with wine.
Every clod of loam below us
Is a skull of Alexander;
Oceans are the blood of princes;
Desert sands the dust of beauties.
More than one Darius was there
Who the whole world overcame;
But since these gave up the ghost,
Thinkest thou they never were?
Boy, go from me to the Shah,
Say to him: Shah crowned as Jam,
Win thou first the poor man's heart,
Then the glass; so know the world.
Empty sorrows from the earth
Canst thou drive away with wine.
Now in thy throne's recent beauty,
In the flowing tide of power,
Moon of fortune, mighty king,
Whose tiara sheddeth lustre,
Peace secure to fish and fowl,
Heart and eye-sparkle to saints;
Shoreless is the sea of praise,
I content me with a prayer.
From Nisami's poet-works,
Highest ornament of speech,
Here a verse will I recite,
Verse as beautiful as pearls.
"More kingdoms wait thy diadem,
Than are known to thee by name;
May the sovran destiny
Grant a victory every morn!"
(Note in original:

[The Poems of Hafiz are held by the Persians to be mystical and allegorical. The following ode, notwithstanding its anacreontic style, is regarded by his German editor, Von Hammer, as one of those which earned for Hafiz among his countrymen the title of "Tongue of the Secret." ] by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson, From the Persian of Hafiz I
,

136:The Happy Harvester
I.
Autumn, like an old poet in a haze
Of golden visions, dreams away his days,
So Hafiz-like that one may almost hear
The singer's thoughts imbue the atmosphere;
Sweet as the dreamings of the nightingales
Ere yet their songs have waked the eastern vales,
Or stirred the airy echoes of the wood
That haunt the forest's social solitude.
His thoughts are pastorals; his days are rife
With the calm wisdom of that inner life
That makes the poet heir to worlds unknown,
All space his empire, and the sun his throne.
As the bee stores the sweetness of the flowers,
So into autumn's variegated hours
Is hived the Hybla richness of the year;
Choice souls imbibing the ambrosial cheer,
As autumn, seated on the highest hills,
Gleans honied secrets from the passing rills;
While from below, the harvest canzonas
Link vale to mountain with a chain of praise.
Foremost among the honoured sons of toil
Are they who overcome the stubborn soil;
Brave Cincinnatus in his country home
Was even greater than when lord of Rome.
Down sinks the sun behind the lofty pines
That skirt the mountain, like the straggling lines
Of Ceres' army looking from the height
On the dim lowlands deepening into night;
Soft-featured twilight, peering through the maze,
Sees the first starbeam pierce the purple haze;
Through all the vales the vespers of the birds
Cheer the young shepherds homeward with their herds;
And the stout axles of the heavy wain
Creak 'neath the fulness of the ripened grain,
As the swarth builders of the precious load,
Returning homewards, sing their Autumn Ode.
145
AUTUMN ODE.
God of the Harvest! Thou, whose sun
Has ripened all the golden grain,
We bless Thee for Thy bounteous store,
The cup of Plenty running o'er,
The sunshine and the rain.
The year laughs out for very joy,
Its silver treble echoing
Like a sweet anthem through the woods,
Till mellowed by the solitudes
It folds its glossy wing.
But our united voices blend
From day to day unweariedly;
Sure as the sun rolls up the morn,
Or twilight from the eve is born,
Our song ascends to Thee.
Where'er the various-tinted woods,
In all their autumn splendour dressed,
Impart their gold and purple dyes
To distant hills and farthest skies
Along the crimson west:
Across the smooth, extended plain,
By rushing stream and broad lagoon,
On shady height and sunny dale,
Wherever scuds the balmy gale,
Or gleams the autumn moon:
From inland seas of yellow grain,
Where cheerful Labour, heaven-blest,
With willing hands and keen-edged scythe,
And accents musically blythe,
Reveals its lordly crest:
From clover-fields and meadows wide,
Where moves the richly-laden wain
146
To barns well-stored with new-made hay,
Or where the flail at early day
Rolls out the ripened grain:
From meads and pastures on the hills,
And in the mountain valleys deep,
Alive with beeves and sweet-breathed kine
Of famous Ayr or Devon's line,
And shepherd-guarded sheep:
The spirits of the golden year,
From crystal caves and grottoes dim,
From forest depths and mossy sward,
Myriad-tongued, with one accord
Peal forth their harvest hymn.
II.
Their daily labour in the happy fields
A two-fold crop of grain and pleasure yields,
While round their hearths, before their evening fires,
Whore comfort reigns, whence weariness retires,
The level tracts, denuded of their grain,
In calm dispute are bravely shorn again,
Till some rough reaper, on a tide of song,
Like a bold pirate, captivates the throng:
A SONG FOR THE FLAIL.
A song, a song for the good old Flail,
And the brawny arms that wield it,
Hearty and hale, in our yeoman mail,
Like intrepid knights we'll shield it.
We are old nature's peers,
Right royal cavaliers!
Knights of the Plough! for no Golden Fleece we sail,
We're Princes in our own right-our sceptre is the Flail.
A song, a song for the golden grain,
As it wooes the flail's embraces,
147
In wavy sheaves like a golden main,
With its bright spray in our faces.
Mirth hastens at our call,
Jovial hearts have we all!
Knights of the Plough! for no Golden Fleece we sail,
We're Princes in our own right-our sceptre is the Flail.
A song, a song for the good old Flail,
That our fathers used before us;
A song for the Flail, and the faces hale
Of the queenly dames that bore us!
We are old nature's peers,
Right royal cavaliers!
Knights of the Plough! for no Golden Fleece we sail,
We're Princes in our own right-our sceptre is the Flail.
III.
Fair was the maid, and lovely as the morn
From starry Night and rosy Twilight born,
Within whose mind a rivulet of song
Rehearsed the strains that from her lips ere long
Welled free and sparkling, as the vocal woods
Repeat the day-spring's sweetest interludes.
Her gentle eyes' serenest depths of blue
Shrined love and truth, and all their retinue;
The health and beauty of her youthful face
Made it the Harem of each maiden grace;
And such perfection blended with her air,
She seemed some stately Goddess moving there:
Beholding her, you thought she might have been
The long-lost, flower-loving Proserpine:
AN AUTUMN CHANGE.
'Oh, dreamy autumn days!
I seek your faded ways,
As one who calmly strays
Through visions of the past;
148
I walk the golden hours,
And where I gathered flowers
The stricken leaves in showers
Are hurled upon the blast.'
Thus mused the lonely maid,
As through the autumn glade,
With pensive heart, she strayed,
Regretting Love's delay;
In vain the traitor flies!
To pleading lips and eyes,
Sweet looks, and tender sighs,
He falls an easy prey.
'Oh, dreamy autumn days!
I tread your bridal ways,
As one who homeward strays,
Through realms divinely fair;
I walk Love's radiant hours,
Fragrant with passion flowers,
And blessings fall like dowers
Down the elysian air.'
Thus mused the maiden now,
With sunny heart and brow,
For Love had turned his prow
Towards the Golden Isles,
Where from Pierean springs
The soul of Music sings
Its sweet imaginings,
Through all the Land of Smiles.
IV.
Up the wide chimney rolls the social fire,
Warming the hearts of matron, youth, and sire;
Painting such grotesque shadows on the wall,
The stripling looms a giant stout and tall,
While they whose statures reach the common height
Seem spectres mocking the hilarious night.
149
From hand to hand the ripened fruit went round,
And rural sports a pleased acceptance found;
The youthful fiddler on his three-legged stool,
Fancied himself at least an Ole Bull;
Some easy bumpkin, seated on the floor,
Hunted the slipper till his ribs were sore;
Some chose the graceful waltz or lively reel,
While deeper heads the chess battalions wheel
Till some old veteran, compelled to yield,
More brave than skilful, vanquished, quits the field.
As a flushed harper, when the doubtful fight
Favors the prowess of some stately knight,
In stirring numbers of triumphal song
Upholds the spirits of the victor throng,
A sturdy ploughboy, wedded to the soil,
Thus sung the praises of the partner of his toil:
THE SOLDIERS OF THE PLOUGH.
No maiden dream, nor fancy theme,
Brown Labour's muse would sing;
Her stately mien and russet sheen
Demand a stronger wing,
Long ages since, the sage, the prince,
The man of lordly brow,
All honour gave that army brave,
The Soldiers of the Plough.
Kind heaven speed the Plough!
And bless the hands that guide it;
God gives the seedThe bread we need,
Man's labour must provide it.
In every land, the toiling hand
Is blest as it deserves;
Not so the race who, in disgrace,
From honest labour swerves.
From fairest bowers bring rarest flowers,
To deck the swarthy brow
Of those whose toil improves the soil,
150
The Soldiers of the Plough.
Kind heaven speed the Plough!
And bless the hands that guide it;
God gives the seedThe bread we need,
Man's labour must provide it.
Blest is his lot, in hall or cot,
Who lives as nature wills,
Who pours his corn from Ceres' horn,
And quaffs his native rills!
No breeze that sweeps trade's stormy deeps,
Can touch his golden prow;
Their foes are few, their lives are true,
The Soldiers of the Plough.
Kind heaven speed the Plough!
And bless the hands that guide it;
God gives the seedThe bread we need,
Man's labour must provide it.
V.
Fast sped the rushing chariot of the Hours.
Without, the Harvest Moon, through fleecy bowers
Of hazy cloudlets, swept her graceful way,
Proud as an empress on her marriage-day;
The admiring planets lit her stately march
With smiles that gleamed along the silent arch,
And all the starry midnight blazed with light,
As if 'twere earth and heaven's nuptial-night;
The cock crowed, certain that the day had broke,
The aged house-dog suddenly awoke,
And bayed so loud a challenge to the moon,
From the old orchard fled the thievish 'coon;
Within, the lightest hearts that ever beat
Still found their harmless pleasures pure and sweet;
The fire still burned on the capacious hearth,
In sympathy with the redundant mirth;
Old graybeards felt the glow of youth revive,
151
Old matrons smiled upon the human hive,
Where life's rare nectar, fit for gods to sip,
In forfeit kisses passed from lip to lip.
Be hushed rude Mirth! as merry as the May
Is she who comes to sing her roundelay:
CLAIRE.
Whither now, blushing Claire?
Maid of the sylph-like air,
Blooming and debonair,
Whither so early?
Chasing the merry morn,
Down through the golden corn?
List'ning the hunter's horn
Ring through the barley?
'Flowerets fresh and fair,'
Answered the blushing Claire,
'Fit for my bridal hair,
Bloom 'mongst the barley;
Hark! 'tis the hunter's horn,
Waking the sylvan morn,
And through the yellow corn
Comes my brave Charlie.'
Through the dew-dripping grain
Pressed the heart-stricken swain,
Crushed with a weight of pain,
Drooped like the barley;
Ah! timid shepherd boy!
Man's love should ne'er be coy,
Sweet is Claire's maiden joy,
Kissing her Charlie!
VI.
A pleasant soul as ever trilled a song
Was hers who warbled 'Claire.' All the day long
152
Her voice was ringing like a bridal bell;
Gladness and joy leaped up at every swell;
And love was deeper, warmer, for the tone
That clasped the heart like an enchanted zone.
A youth was there more comely than the rest,
One who could turn a furrow with the best,
Compete for manly strength and portly air,
Or wield a scythe with any reaper there.
The spirit of her voice had moved above
The waters of his soul, and waked his song to Love:
BALLAD.
'Come tell me, merry Brooklet, of a gentle Maid I seek,
Thou'lt know her by the freshness of the rose upon her cheek;
Her eyes are chaste and tender, and so serenely bright,
You can read her heart's pure secrets by their warm religious light.'
'The Maid has not come hither,' said the Brooklet in reply;
'I've listened for her footfall ere the stars were in the sky;
The Fountain has been singing of a Maid, with eyes so bright
You may read the cherished secrets of her bosom by their light.'
'Pray tell me, merry Brooklet, what saith her thoughts of one
Who wronged her loving nature ere the setting of the sun?
What say they of yon autumn moon that smiles so mournfully
On the slowly-dying season, and the blasted moorland tree?'
'She sitteth by the Fountain,' the Brook replied again,
'Her heart as pure as heaven, and her thoughts without a stain;
'Oh, fickle moon, and changeful man!' she saith, 'a year ago
All the paths were true-love-lighted where I'm groping now in woe.'
'She sitteth by the Fountain, the gentle mists arise,
And kiss away the tear-pearls that tremble in her eyes,
The Fountain singeth to me that the Maiden in her dream
Shrinks as the vapours claim her as the Oread of the stream.'
Off sped the merry Streamlet adown the sloping vale;
The Shepherd seeks the Fountain, where sits the Maiden pale;
And to the wandering Brooklet, through many a lonely wild,
153
The burden of the Fountain was, that Love was reconciled.
VII.
But soon the Morn, on many a distant height,
Fingers the raven locks of lingering Night;
The last dark shadows that precede the day
Have stripped the splendour from the Milky Way;
And Nature seems disturbed by fitful dreams,
As one who shudders when the owlet screams;
The painful burden of the Whippoorwill,
Like a vague Sorrow, floats from hill to hill;
Along the vales the doleful accents run,
Where the white vapours dread the burning sun;
While human voices stir the haunted air,
One sings 'the Plough,' another warbles 'Claire:'
The Happy Harvesters, a lightsome throng,
Dispersing homewards, prove the excellence of Song.
~ Charles Sangster,

137:A Tale Of True Love
Not in the mist of legendary ages,
Which in sad moments men call long ago,
And people with bards, heroes, saints, and sages,
And virtues vanished, since we do not know,
But here to-day wherein we all grow old,
But only we, this Tale of True Love will be told.
For Earth to tender wisdom grows not older,
But to young hearts remains for ever young,
Spring no less winsome, Winter winds no colder,
Than when tales first were told, songs first were sung.
And all things always still remain the same,
That touch the human heart, and feed Love's vestal flame.
And, if you have ears to hear and eyes for seeing,
Maidens there be, as were there in your youth,
That round you breathe, and move, and have their being,
Fair as Greek Helen, pure as Hebrew Ruth;
With Heaven-appointed poets, quick to sing
Of blameless warrior brave, and wisdom-counselled king.
And, tho' in this our day, youth, love, and beauty,
Are far too often glorified as slave
Of every sense except the sense of Duty,
In fables that dishonour and deprave,
The old-world Creeds still linger, taught us by
The pious lips that mute now in the churchyard lie.
And this true simple tale in verse as simple
Will from its prelude to its close be told,
As free from artifice as is the dimple
In childhood's cheek, whereby is age consoled.
And haply it may soothe some sufferer's lot,
When noisier notes are husht, and newer ones forgot.
And think not, of your graciousness, I pray you,
Who tells the tale is one of those who deem
That love will beckon only to betray you,
Life an illusion, happiness a dream;
96
Only that noble grief is happier far
Than transitory lusts and feverish raptures are.
It was the season when aggressive Winter,
That had so long invested the sealed world,
With frosts that starve and hurricanes that splinter,
And rain, hail, blizzard, mercilessly hurled,
Made one forlorn last effort to assail
Ere Spring's relieving spears came riding on the gale.
For Amazonian March with breast uncovered
Blew loud her clarion, and the wintry host
Took courage fresh and lingeringly hovered
Round vale and hill, wherever needed most;
And ever and anon the raging weather
And wolfish winds re-formed, and onward swept together,
Loud-bellowing to the thunder-clouds to follow:
But all in vain, for here, there, everywhere,
Primrose battalions, seizing ridge and hollow,
Dingle, and covert, wind-flowers wild that dare
Beyond their seeming, bluebells without sound,
And scentless violets peeped, to spring up from the ground.
And, covering their advance, swift-scouring showers,
Gathering, dispersing, skirmished through the sky,
Till squadrons of innumerable flowers
Thronged through the land far as you could descry.
Then Winter, smitten with despair and dread,
Folded his fluttering tents, sounded retreat, and fled.
Whereat the land, so long beleaguered, seeing
The peril past, and Winter's iron ring
Broken, and all his cohorts norward fleeing,
Came forth to welcome and embrace the Spring,
Spring the Deliverer, and from sea and shore
Rose the rejoicing shout, ``See, April dawns once more!''
Radiant she came, attended by her zephyrs,
And forth from dusky stall and hurdled fold
Poured lowing kine and sleeky-coated heifers,
To roam at will through pastures green and gold,
97
Where unweaned lambs from morning until night
Raced round their nibbling dams, and frolicked with delight.
High up, on larch and cypress, merle and mavis
Vociferated love-lays sweet as strong,
And the bird dear to Homer and to Hafiz
Proclaimed the joy of sadness all night long;
Vowed each new Spring more Spring-like than the last,
And triumphed over Time, futile iconoclast.
Then imperceptibly and slowly rounded
Slim girlish April into maiden May,
Whereat still louder everywhere resounded
The cuckoo's call and throstle's roundelay.
It was as though in meadow, chase, and wood,
God made the world anew, and saw that it was good.
Then feudal Avoncourt, the stern and stately,
Whose dawn deep hidden in undated days,
Not like those palaces erected lately
Whose feet swift crumble, and whose face decays,
Defieth Time's insatiable tooth,
Relaxed grave gaze and wore the countenance of youth.
It had beheld kings and proud empires vanish,
Male sceptres shattered, princedoms pass away,
Norman, Plantagenet, Lombard, Swabian, Spanish,
Rise, rule, then totter, and topple from their sway;
York and Lancastrian Rose unfold and bloom,
Then canker and decay, and vanish in the tomb.
It faces the four winds with like demeanour
Norward as Southernward, as though to say,
``Blow from some other, stronger and still keener,
Wherefrom you will, and I will face that way.''
And round it as you roam, to gaze perplexed
Each side seems loveliest till you look upon the next.
Its present seeming unto ages Tudor
It owes, by unnamed, unknown hands designed,
Who planned and worked amid a folk deemed ruder,
But who with grace enduring strength combined.
98
Like sturdy oak with all its leaves still on,
When foliage from elm and sycamore have gone.
Upon its delicate, lofty-jutting portal
Imaginative minds and hands have wrought
Of dead artificers once deemed immortal,
From Southern climes by kings and magnates brought,
When architects and sculptors smiled in scorn
On plain defensive days and called the world reborn.
But time hath mellowed mullion, roof, and gable,
Stone-work without, and wainscotting within;
And nigh them oaken-timbered barn and stable,
Lowlier, withal of countenance akin,
Cluster, for in times olden, meek, and proud,
Being nearer much than now, their kinship was avowed.
From it slope woodlands and long alleys shaded,
Saving that all around it and more near
Stretches wild chase by ploughshare uninvaded,
Where roam rough cattle and unherded deer,
That look up as you pass from brackened sod,
Then flee with step as fleet as that whereon they trod.
Through vale below from many a source unfailing
A river flows where deft hands cast the line,
Well stocked with wary trout and bolder grayling.
Through smooth, fat pastures dotted o'er with kine
League after league the water winds away,
Oft turning as though loth from Avoncourt to stray.
It was in the sweet season that hath ravished
The virgin heart since ever love began,
A maiden, upon whom had Nature lavished
Each fair gift given to maiden or to man,
Roamed all alone through windings of its wood,
Seeking the way to where Avoncourt haply stood.
Onward in search of it she went, but slowly,
For who could hasten through so fresh a scene,
With violets paved, the lovelier because lowly,
And pallid primroses on ground of green;
99
While overhead each bird that hath a voice
Seemed in its own blithe notes to revel and rejoice.
And ever and anon she gazed around her,
Or knelt to gather some appealing flower,
And to dear God, the Father and the Founder
Of all things good, the all-protecting Power,
Breathed a brief prayer of thanks within her breast,
Feeling she roamed in Heaven on earth made manifest.
Sometimes she broke into spontaneous singing,
Such as fond nurse to fretful babe might sing,
Whose close as sudden is as its beginning.
Herself she seemed a portion of the Spring
Which, if she went, would lose the chiefest part
Of that which charms the gaze and captivates the heart.
At length she passed from out these paths embowered
To where meek does, young fawns, and shaggy beeves
Ranged amid bracken; but the House, that towered
Full nigh at hand, for intercepting leaves
She still descried not, so, advancing under
An arch of hornbeam, stood in husht, astonied wonder.
For there it rose as silent and abstracted
As though it nothing shared or had to say
With those that shadow-like have lived and acted
Upon the stage we call our later day;
From passing passions thoughtfully aloof,
Through age, not pride, without lamenting or reproof.
Then slowly timid, tentative explorer,
Longing to see yet dreading to be seen,
Asudden living figure rose before her
Of manly mould and meditative mien;
Modern, withal with air of ancient port,
As if the same blood flowed through him and Avoncourt.
``Forgive,'' she said, ``an overbold intruder!''
``I doubt if anywhere you would intrude;
But sooth none do on this survival Tudor,
Who visit its old age in reverent mood.''
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``And that indeed I do. I never saw
Aught that I so admired, or felt for so much awe.''
``Will you, I round it willingly can guide you,
Unless-and, told, shall fully understand,Wander you rather would with none beside you
To mar the silence of the windless land,
Saving Spring's choristers, whose constant trills
One hears or doth not hear, according as one wills.''
``You know it well?'' she asked. ``I ought to know it.
Here was I born, here grew to boy's estate,
Pored o'er the page of storier and poet,
All that is big, magnanimous, and great,
Hardened my own, tried my dear Mother's nerves,
Robbed the home orchard, poached my Father's own preserves.''
``And are you now its occupant and possessor?''
``So called, alas! whose ancestors have paid
The final tax, by Death the stern assessor
On all poor mortals equitably laid.
I have a leasehold; no one can have more,
This side at least the vague, still-undiscovered shore.''
Thereat there fell a silence on their speaking,
And on they moved, he follower more than guide;
Oblivious she what 'twas that she was seeking,
Since conscious now of manhood at her side.
Withal, so much there was to lure her gaze,
That his on her could rest, nor stint its look of praise.
Then when they reached the Jacobean portal,
Back rolled its doors of iron brace and stay,
On grooves that seemed more cut for feet immortal
Than for a feeble transitory day,
And mounted oaken stair axe-hewn, unplaned,
With lion-headed piers unpolished and unstained.
From coffered ceiling hung down tattered banners,
And weapons warlike deadly deemed no more
Were parked on landing; grants of ancient manors,
With charts and parchments of black-letter lore,
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Stacked spears and dinted armour; ebon presses
With jealous bolts stood locked in embrasured recesses.
Chamber on chamber wainscotted and spacious
Was lined with effigies of warriors wise,
Reticent rulers, dames revered and gracious,
Whose fingers wove the silken tapestries,
Time-toned but faded not, that draped the wall
Of gallery long and straight, and square-set banquet-hall.
About lay obsolete instruments, wheel and spindle,
When women read much less and knew much more,
Huge logs for early-rising maids to kindle
On deep-set hearths, mottoes of lasting lore
In ancient tongues, Norman, or Saxon stave,
Bidding man live and die, meek, pious, steadfast, brave.
And many a question asked she, always getting
The answer craved for, given prompt and plain.
``But look,'' she said, ``the sun will soon be setting,
And that old dial-hand that doth nor gain
Nor lose, I am sure, in its diurnal pace,
Reproves me I still lag in this enthralling place.''
``Then come again,'' he answered, ``at your leisure,''
And led her outward where the ancient pile
Looked as though dwelt within no special treasure,
And owned no spell nor charm save sunset's smile;
Like one of those large natures that betray
No sign that they are made of more than common clay.
``And may I ask, your homeward footsteps, whither?
What! there! it is on Avoncourt estate,
And I by shorter path can guide you thither
Than that you came by, fear you to be late.
You lodge with much-loved tenants, for the wife
My foster-parent was in rosy-dawning life.''
``She did not tell me that; but sooth our meeting
Was but two days back, though I quickly saw
That she for you would evermore be bleating
With voice of blent solicitude and awe.''
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``'Tis so: on Sundays with a spirit meek
She worships God, then me the rest of all the week.''
Wending and winding under curved ways shaded,
Wider than heretofore, they farmward trod,
While twilight incense all the air pervaded
Round flower-decked altar at the shrine of God,
This sacred Earth, and for approaching night
One star kept watch, as yet Heaven's only lamp alight.
To her it seemed the Real and Ideal
At last were one, and every bird that sings
Joined prayerfully in chorus hymeneal,
Ere folding music underneath its wings.
How little did she guess that ambushed grief
Watched all her thoughts and lurked 'neath every dewy leaf!
``Are both your parents at the farmstead staying?''
``Alas!'' she said, ``like yours, they both abide
My coming further off, and in my praying
Alone survive; my guardian and my guide
My Mother's sister, whom we there shall find,
Most loving and most loved of living womankind.''
Where buttressed Church with crenellated Tower
Over the village still kept watch and ward;
``For these,'' he said, ``inherited have that power,
The pious citadels of peace that guard
The sin-beleaguered soul, and still repel
From humble homes and hearts the ravening hosts of hell.''
Within were monuments of home-delved marble,
Whereon lay figures of his race and name,
Crusaders whose dead deeds no time can garble,
Learning destroy, malignity defame:
Legs crossed, feet resting against faithful hound,
And, at their side, their dames and children kneeling round.
Then would they wend them valeward to the river,
And he cast line that neither curled nor sank.
Round ran the reel, then the lithe rod would quiver,
And May-fly trout lie gasping on the bank,
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Or, like a flying shadow through the stream,
Startled, would pass to pool sheltered from noonday gleam.
Which pleased her most, for sooth she thought sport cruel,
Yet watched it for the sake of his rare skill,
But happiest when asudden wingèd jewel,
The king-fisher, disturbed near rustic mill,
Darted, and deep into its nest withdrew,
Shortly to issue forth, and, flickering, raid anew.
So passed the days unnoticed and uncounted,
As louder, longer, later, piped the merle,
And cuckoo oftener called, if harsher throated,
And hawthorn decked itself with loops of pearl.
It seemed a world reborn without its woes:
Woodbine was in the lanes, and everywhere the rose.
All things that are in that seductive season
In them struck root and with them got entwined;
Looking before or after had seemed treason
To the free heart and unconditioned mind,
As daily tightened beyond time's control
That strongest of all ties, the kinship of the soul.
And deeper into bliss they wandered blindly,
While woe and wet winds kept from them aloof,
As from screened homestead visitings unkindly,
Where old-world windows under gabled roof
Seem gazing at the present from the past,
And wondering how long such happiness will last.
Ah me! the days of Summer, not of Winter,
The shortest are and swiftest glide away,
And leaves of Autumn, sober mezzotinter,
Linger far longer than the blooms of May.
Time that, when fledged by joy, finds wings to fly,
With sorrow for its load limps slowly, wearily.
One evening, as they watched the sunset fading,
``To strangers Avoncourt must never pass,
For that would be dishonouring and degrading,''
Thinking aloud he said: ``withal, alas!
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Sit by its hearth they must, and much I fear
That there they must abide for many a coming year.
``No fault of mine nor yet of those now sleeping
In tombs ancestral. Unrelenting time,
That hath the future in its unseen keeping,
Hath lowered the lofty, let the lowly climb,
And swept away the sustenance of my home.
What is there that endures? Go ask of Greece or Rome.
``Mullion from sill, transom from beam, is cracking,
Beauty and majesty their only stay;
And, save new wealth supply what now is lacking,
These too in turn will slowly pass away.
And I must save and strive in duteous ways,
So irksome felt by most in these luxurious days.''
``There is another way, some deem a duty,
None call unworthy,'' slowly she replied.
``Women there be, gifted with charm and beauty,
On whom hath Fortune lavished wealth beside.''
``I am not made like that,'' he firmly said;
``I but for love alone should ever woo or wed.''
And, as he said it, on her face he centred
Strong tender gaze, as though to search her soul,
Which straight so deep into her being entered,
She felt a current beyond will's control.
Crimsoning she turned aside, and thus confessed
The secret she had thought to hide within her breast.
Out of a cloud long gathering burst a flashing,
Followed by thunder's discontented sound;
And straight they heard slow big round raindrops plashing
On the green leaves o'erhead and emerald ground.
``Hark! I must hasten home,'' she said, ``before
The storm-wrack breaks.''-``And I will see you to your door.''
All through the morrow much he seemed to ponder,
And oft would halt and gaze upon the ground,
Or look out fixedly on something yonder,
Unseen by others, which at last he found,
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And then strode quickly on, since he had solved
The doubt that would die out oftener the years revolved.
``Yes, for she hath that higher understanding
That routs Life's phantoms with a fearless face,
And knows, when spectral enemies throng banding,
The good from bad, the noble from the base.
To-morrow will I offer, ask for, all,
Love, Faith, and Hope can give, whatever else befall.''
But on the morrow came she not. More lonely,
Wandering, he felt than ever heretofore;
Nor on the morrow's morrow, and he only
Could wait her will, nor wend unto their door
Till wearily some doubtful days crept on,
And then the farmstead sought, to find its guests had gone!
Gone three days back, and none knew why or whither.
Then he with promptitude unleashed his mind,
In search for trace, now hither and now thither,
But trace or tidings nowhere could he find.
Still unremittingly he sought: in vain
Was search within our shore, was search beyond the main.
Slowly the glory from the Summer faded,
And ominously leaves began to fall;
And ever and anon harsh gusts invaded
Avoncourt, moaning through deserted hall,
And roaring woefully up chimney wide;
And mute the deerhound clung unto her master's side,
Or gazed at him with sad look sympathetic,
As though it too missed what its master missed.
``Ah, Lufra!'' said he in a voice prophetic,
``She is gone, and we shall never see her more.
Cling you to me, and I will take you where
Wander awhile I must, wherever I may fare.
``No more than you can I unmask the meaning
Of hapless things that baffle mortal vows.''
Then, sighing, saw he white-haired Winter gleaning,
Amid the crackling drift and fallen boughs
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That lay on avenue, chase, and garden garth,
Fuel to feed faint flame upon her widowed hearth.
He was not one of those who love to wrangle
Before the populace for place and power,
Or fight for wealth with weapons that but strangle
The nobler passions, manhood's richest dower.
``I will return when wound shall less be felt,
And work among my folk, dwelling where once she dwelt.''
Farewell he took of wood-reeve, keeper, ranger,
And tenants grave with grief, and some in tears,
And order gave that Avoncourt to stranger
Be leased for maybe many coming years;
Then crossed the vigilant, unsleeping sea
That ranges round our Isle, to keep it great and free.
He lingered not in that vain-glorious city,
Whose Rulers pass the sceptre to the crowd,
But wended to the Land where amorous ditty
By swain at work to maid is sung aloud;
Where life is simple, and unchanging ways
Of tillage still recall loved Virgil's rustic lays:
Where on majestic pedestals the mighty
Marble imaginings of Art august,
Thought-wrinkled Zeus and dimpled Aphrodité,
Exact our homage and command our trust;
Immortal gods whose never-ending sway
Rebellion cannot shake nor scoffing sweep away.
And in that high companionship he slowly
Stifled his sighs and cicatrised his wound,
And, with the griefs the lofty and the lowly
Alike must feel, his share of pain attuned;
More willingly, it may be, since he knew
He unto love and loss would evermore keep true.
Ofttimes he stood by shrines where peasants kneeling
Told of their sorrows to the Mother-Maid,
Unto celestial sympathy appealing
From the world's pitiless splendour and parade;
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And in that sight he resignation found,
With sun, and sea, and sky, and mountain-peaks around.
So that when nigh upon a year had vanished
Homeward his longing and his looks were cast,
Feeling 'twere base to longer stay self-banished,
Grafting his future on a fruitless past.
And soon his steadfast journeying came to close,
Where Avoncourt amid its unchanged woodlands rose.
It had meanwhile been leased to lately wedded
Tenants, unknown to Fame, but well endowed
With what could rescue it from fate so dreaded
Of slow decay and ruin-mantling shroud,
And who already had done much to win
Its walls from storm without, and worm and moth within.
So, as in duty bound, he promptly started
From home prepared for him on his estate,
With cheerful step if somewhat heavy-hearted,
To visit those who lived within his gate;
Ascending through the woodland's winding ways,
That wore more careful mien than in the bygone days.
It was the dawn of Autumn, very season
When he from further search for her forbore,
Whom to forget had seemed to him a treason,
Though well he knew he ne'er should see her more.
Sound, sight, scent, yellowing elm, and conecrowned fir,
Sunshine and shade alike, reminded him of her.
But, resolute to curb regret, he entered,
And, led through hall and corridor, he wound
To long ancestral gallery, and centred
His curious gaze on what he saw around.
It seemed to have lost no look of days gone by,
Withal to blend young smile with ancient majesty.
Still on the walls the effigies ancestral,
In armour or in ermine, hung unchanged,
With the device of wild boar, wolf, or kestrel,
That once in English forests freely ranged;
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With later draperies that seemed to bring
Distance more near and shed a grace round everything.
While gazing out on well-remembered garden,
Where old yew hedges screened new-planted rose,
Against whose beauty none his heart could harden,
He heard a door soft open and then close.
And, turning, saw Egeria, with a face
Pale as a moon that moves alone through lonely space!
``Are you a guest,'' he said, ``in my poor dwelling?''
``I am,'' she answered, ``your-your tenant's wife.
Hear me in patience, dear, while I am telling
What tell I must, but tell this once for life.''
Whereat they towards each other drew more near:
One spoke, one listened, both without a sob or tear.
``I loved, I love you. Noble since I know you,
Here I confess that I shall love you still;
Since you will never show me nor I show you
More tenderness than now, for such God's will.
Knowing I should, love once avowed, rejoice,
Should not refuse your love, could not resist your voice,
``From you I fled, and steadfast left behind me
No word to weaken you, no sign, no trace,
Whereby your manliness could following find me.
For well I knew, that day your face my face
Scanned in strong silence, probing to my heart,
Love once confessed, no power could keep our lives apart.
``And well, too well I knew, for all things told me,
Men's tongues, the air, I thus should wreck your life,
And Avoncourt reproachfully behold me
A selfish bride and paralysing wife;
That duty had decreed a harder fate
For you, for me. If wrong, I know the right too late.
``In innocency's life there comes an hour
When stands revealed what it could never guess:
That there is magical and mystic power
To make love strong or leave it powerless;
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If felt, if given without one selfish thought,
That Love is Wisdom's self, and all beside is nought.
``Ask me no more, I beg, than what I tell you:
I am your tenant, at another's will.
How, wherefore, when, on that which then befell, you,
Though I be mute, will understand me still.
Forgive, but ne'er forget me. Now depart,
Till to endurance Time shall mellowed have the smart.''
Her hand she stretched towards him, and, low bending,
On it his lips he reverently laid,
As on some sacred relic pilgrims wending
From far-off land with faith still undecayed.
Then he went forth, and she remained, alone,
Stern Duty unassailed upon its sovran throne.
But with the morrow's dawn there came the tidings
How that a crafty, freedom-loathing race,
Its schemes unmasked, had come from out its hidings,
And flung defiance in its Suzerain's face,
Then on his open territories burst,
Proclaiming these annexed unto its rule accursed.
Then England said, ``I must endure no longer
This long-conspiring, now presumptuous brood,
But must assert the Sceptre of the stronger
Against their vapourings vain and challenge rude,
Who have against me their false flag unfurled,
Urged to their ruin by an Empire-envying world.''
Nor England only, nor main-moated Britain,
But their brave offspring homed beyond the sea,
In righteous wrath arose, and, duty-smitten,
Vowed that their Afric brethren should be free
To think and speak the thing they would, and dwell
Equal and safe around Law's peaceful citadel.
Then said Sir Alured, ``Against such foemen
I too will ride and strike,'' and round him drew
All Avoncourt's hard-knit, well-mounted yeomen,
And to his lands ancestral bade adieu.
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Beneath him seethed the waters no one barred,
Over the wave-wide track our steel-shod sentries guard.
And day by day Egeria scans and watches
The ebb and flow of fluctuating war,
And ofttimes sees his name in terse dispatches
Shine among those that most distinguished are.
Then pride and terror in her heart contend,
And low she prays anew, ``Dear God! his life befriend!''
And when she reads of some fresh deed of daring
That decorates his breast and crowns his brow,
Sparing of others, of himself unsparing,
She weeps apart where no one sees. But now
This Tale of True Love hath been truly told.
May it by some be read, and by it some consoled!
~ Alfred Austin,

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