Hafez · Ghazal 181 · From now on, the hem of that tall cypress
بعد از این دست من و دامن آن سرو بلندکه به بالای چمان از بن و بیخم برکند
حاجت مطرب و می نیست تو برقع بگشاکه به رقص آوردم آتش رویت چو سپند
هیچ رویی نشود آینه حجله بختمگر آن روی که مالند در آن سم سمند
گفتم اسرار غمت هر چه بود گو می‌باشصبر از این بیش ندارم چه کنم تا کی و چند؟
مکش آن آهوی مشکین مرا ای صیادشرم از آن چشم سیه دار و مبندش به کمند
من خاکی که از این در نتوانم برخاستاز کجا بوسه زنم بر لب آن قصر بلند؟
بازمستان دل از آن گیسوی مشکین حافظزان که دیوانه همان به که بود اندر بند
Hafez has made up his mind: from now on he will hold fast to the hem of what he loves. Perhaps you too have reached a point where waiting no longer feels possible and you are asking how long, how much. This ghazal answers with steadiness rather than haste. Hold on to what you truly love, humbly, like the dust at its door, and do not take your heart back. Fortune comes to the one who is devoted rather than proud. Your faithfulness is itself the path.
From now on, my hand and the hem of that tall cypress,
whose swaying stature has torn me up root and stem.
There is no need of minstrel or wine; only lift your veil,
for the fire of your face has set me dancing like wild rue.
No face becomes the mirror in the bridal chamber of fortune
except the face that is rubbed beneath the hoof of her horse.
I said: let the secrets of your grief be whatever they may be;
I have no more patience than this; what shall I do, how long, how much?
Do not kill my musky gazelle, O hunter;
have shame before that dark eye, and do not bind it with the lasso.
I, a creature of dust, who cannot rise from this door,
how could I kiss the lip of that high palace?
Do not take back your heart from that musky hair, Hafez,
for the madman is best kept in chains.