Hafez · Ghazal 192 · Why does my swaying cypress not come?
سرو چمان من چرا میل چمن نمی‌کند؟همدم گل نمی‌شود، یاد سمن نمی‌کند
دی گله‌ای ز طره‌اش، کردم و از سر فسوسگفت که «این سیاه‌کج، گوش به من نمی‌کند»
تا دل هرزه‌گرد من، رفت به چین زلف اوزان سفر دراز خود، عزم وطن نمی‌کند
پیش کمان ابرویش، لابه همی کنم ولیگوش کشیده است از آن، گوش به من نمی‌کند
با همه عطف دامنت، آیدم از صبا عجبکز گذر تو، خاک را، مشک ختن نمی‌کند
چون ز نسیم می‌شود، زلف بنفشه پرشکنوه که دلم چه یاد از آن، عهدشکن نمی‌کند
دل به امید روی او، همدم جان نمی‌شودجان به هوای کوی او، خدمت تن نمی‌کند
ساقی سیم‌ساق من، گر همه درد می‌دهدکیست که تن چو جام می، جمله دهن نمی‌کند؟
دستخوش جفا مکن، آب رخم که فیض ابربی‌مدد سرشک من، در عدن نمی‌کند
کشته غمزه تو شد، حافظ ناشنیده‌پندتیغ سزاست هر که را، درد، سخن نمی‌کند
Longing fills this ghazal: the beloved cypress stays away, and the wandering heart has gone so far into her curls that it forgets to come home. You may recognise that feeling of being pulled away from yourself by what you desire. Hafez honours your devotion, and your tears, which he says help the cloud make its pearls. But he also hints at a gentle lesson: let pain teach you, and listen to good advice. Remember your own home too, and bring your heart back to rest for a while.
Why does my swaying cypress not turn towards the meadow?
It does not keep company with the rose or think of the jasmine.
Yesterday I complained of her lock, and she said, mocking,
"This crooked black thing does not listen to me."
Since my wandering heart went into the folds of her curl,
from that long journey it has made no plan to come home.
I keep pleading before the bow of her eyebrow, but
it has drawn its string to the ear, and lends me no ear.
For all the sweep of your hem, I wonder at the breeze,
that it does not turn the dust of your path into the musk of Khotan.
When the breeze ruffles the violet's curl,
alas, how my heart remembers that breaker of promises!
In hope of her face, the heart will not keep company with the soul;
longing for her lane, the soul will not serve the body.
My silver-legged saqi, even if he gives nothing but dregs,
who would not make his whole body a mouth, like the wine-cup?
Do not let cruelty toy with my honour, for the bounty of the cloud
makes no pearl in Aden without the help of my tears.
Hafez, who heeded no advice, was slain by your glance;
the sword is fit for anyone whom pain cannot teach.