Hafez · Ghazal 153 · When the king of the east raised his banner
سحر چون خسرو خاور، علم بر کوهساران زدبه دست مرحمت، یارم، در امیدواران زد
چو پیش صبح روشن شد که حال مهر گردون چیستبرآمد خنده‌ای خوش بر غرور کامگاران زد
نگارم دوش در مجلس، به عزم رقص چون برخاستگره بگشود از گیسو و بر دل‌های یاران زد
من از رنگ صلاح آن دم، به خون دل بشستم دستکه چشم باده پیمایش صلا بر هوشیاران زد
کدام آهن‌دلش آموخت این آیین عیاری؟کز اول چون برون آمد، ره شب‌زنده‌داران زد
خیال شهسواری پخت و شد ناگه دل مسکینخداوندا! نگه دارش که بر قلب سواران زد
در آب و رنگ رخسارش، چه جان دادیم و خون خوردیمچو نقشش دست داد اول، رقم بر جان‌سپاران زد
منش با خرقه پشمین، کجا اندر کمند آرم؟زره‌مویی که مژگانش ره خنجرگزاران زد
نظر بر قرعه توفیق و یمن دولت شاه استبده کام دل حافظ که فال بختیاران زد
شهنشاه مظفر فر، شجاع ملک و دین منصورکه جود بی‌دریغش خنده بر ابر بهاران زد
از آن ساعت که جام می به دست او مشرف شدزمانه ساغر شادی به یاد می‌گساران زد
ز شمشیر سرافشانش، ظفر آن روز بدرخشیدکه چون خورشید انجم‌سوز تنها بر هزاران زد
دوام عمر و ملک او، بخواه از لطف حق ای دل!که چرخ، این سکه دولت به دور روزگاران زد
The ghazal opens at sunrise, when the beloved knocks with a merciful hand at the door of the hopeful. It goes on to celebrate a generosity that laughs at the clouds of spring, and a fortune that favours those who cast their lot with hope. Hafez reads his own faal here and finds it among the fortunate. Let the dawn image be yours: kindness may be nearer your door than you think. Meet it with gratitude, be generous in turn, and wish lasting good for those who protect and support you.
At dawn, when the king of the east planted his banner on the mountains,
my beloved, with the hand of mercy, knocked at the door of the hopeful.
When it became clear to the morning what the heavens' love amounts to,
it rose with a pleasant laugh and mocked the pride of the fortunate.
Last night in the gathering, when my idol rose to dance,
she loosened a knot from her tresses and cast it upon her friends' hearts.
At that moment I washed my hands of the colour of righteousness in my heart's blood,
when her wine-measuring eye called out to the sober.
Which iron-hearted one taught her this roguish custom,
that the moment she came out, she waylaid those who keep the night vigil?
My poor heart dreamed of a champion rider, and suddenly,
O Lord, protect it, it charged at the centre of the horsemen.
For the lustre and colour of her face, what lives we gave and what blood we drank!
When her image first appeared, it set its mark on those who give their souls.
How can I, in my woollen cloak, bring her into my lasso,
that one with chain-mail hair, whose lashes waylaid the dagger-wielders?
My eye is on the lot of success and the blessed fortune of the king;
grant Hafez his heart's desire, for he has cast the faal of the fortunate.
The king of kings of victorious glory, Shoja, triumphant in kingdom and faith,
whose unstinting generosity laughed at the clouds of spring.
From the hour the wine-cup was honoured by his hand,
time has raised the goblet of joy in memory of the wine-drinkers.
From his head-scattering sword victory shone on the day
when, like the star-burning sun, he struck alone at thousands.
Ask God's grace, O heart, for the endurance of his life and kingdom,
for heaven has struck this coin of fortune for the course of the ages.