Hafez · Ghazal 111 · Your face in the mirror of the cup
عکس روی تو چو در آینه جام افتادعارف از خنده می در طمع خام افتاد
حسن روی تو به یک جلوه که در آینه کرداین همه نقش در آیینه اوهام افتاد
این همه عکس می و نقش نگارین که نمودیک فروغ رخ ساقی‌ست که در جام افتاد
غیرت عشق زبان همه خاصان ببریدکز کجا سر غمش در دهن عام افتاد؟
من ز مسجد به خرابات نه خود افتادماینم از عهد ازل حاصل فرجام افتاد
چه کند کز پی دوران نرود چون پرگار؟هر که در دایره گردش ایام افتاد
در خم زلف تو آویخت دل از چاه زنخآه، کز چاه برون آمد و در دام افتاد
آن شد ای خواجه که در صومعه بازم بینیکار ما با رخ ساقی و لب جام افتاد
زیر شمشیر غمش رقص‌کنان باید رفتکـ‌آن که شد کشته او نیک سرانجام افتاد
هر دمش با من دل‌سوخته لطفی دگر استاین گدا بین که چه شایسته انعام افتاد
صوفیان جمله حریفند و نظرباز ولیزین میان حافظ دل‌سوخته بدنام افتاد
Everything bright that draws you, Hafez says, is a single gleam of one light reflected many times. You may feel you have strayed from a path others expected you to keep, but some turnings were written long before; whoever lives within the circle of days moves with it, like a compass. Accept where you stand. Notice the kindness that keeps arriving, and do not be troubled if others judge you more harshly than they judge themselves. Go forward with a light step, even a dancing one.
When the reflection of your face fell into the mirror of the cup,
the knower, laughing from the wine, fell into a raw desire.
With a single display your beauty made in the mirror,
all these images fell into the mirror of illusion.
All these reflections of wine and painted forms that have appeared
are a single gleam of the saqi's face that has fallen into the cup.
Love's jealousy cut out the tongues of all the chosen ones;
how, then, did the secret of its grief fall into the mouths of the crowd?
I did not fall from the mosque into the tavern of my own will;
this was the end allotted to me from pre-eternity.
What can he do but follow the turning of time, like a compass,
whoever has fallen within the circle of the revolving days?
From the well of your chin my heart caught hold of the curve of your curl;
ah, it climbed out of the well only to fall into the snare.
Those days are gone, sir, when you would see me in the cloister again;
my business now is with the saqi's face and the lip of the cup.
Beneath the sword of grief for her one must go dancing,
for whoever is slain by her has come to a good end.
Every moment she has a new kindness for me, the heart-burned one;
see how worthy of reward this beggar has turned out to be.
The Sufis are all drinking companions and lovers of glances, but
of them all it is heart-burned Hafez who has fallen into ill repute.