Hafez · Ghazal 224 · Happy the heart that does not wander
خوشا دلی که مدام از پی نظر نرودبه هر درش که بخوانند بی‌خبر نرود
طمع در آن لب شیرین نکردنم اولیولی چگونه مگس از پی شکر نرود
سواد دیده غمدیده‌ام به اشک مشویکه نقش خال توام هرگز از نظر نرود
ز من چو باد صبا بوی خود دریغ مدارچرا که بی سر زلف توام به سر نرود
دلا مباش چنین هرزه گرد و هرجاییکه هیچ کار ز پیشت بدین هنر نرود
مکن به چشم حقارت نگاه در من مستکه آبروی شریعت بدین قدر نرود
من گدا هوس سروقامتی دارمکه دست در کمرش جز به سیم و زر نرود
تو کز مکارم اخلاق عالمی دگریوفای عهد من از خاطرت به در نرود
سیاه نامه‌تر از خود کسی نمی‌بینمچگونه چون قلمم دود دل به سر نرود
به تاج هدهدم از ره مبر که باز سفیدچو باشه در پی هر صید مختصر نرود
بیار باده و اول به دست حافظ دهبه شرط آن که ز مجلس سخن به در نرود
The opening line holds the counsel: happy is the heart that does not chase every glance or answer every call. You may be pulled in many directions at once. Hafez asks you to be like the white falcon, which does not go after every small prey but waits for what is worthy of it. Choose one true aim and stay faithful to it, rather than scattering yourself. Do not be swayed by showy crowns or by others' scorn. Keep your own counsel, protect what is private, and let your steadiness be your strength.
Happy the heart that does not always go chasing every glance,
and does not go unthinking to every door that calls it.
Better for me not to covet those sweet lips,
but how can the fly not go after the sugar?
Do not wash the dark of my grief-worn eye with tears,
for the image of your mole will never leave my sight.
Like the morning breeze, do not keep your scent from me,
for without the tip of your curl my life does not go on.
O heart, do not be such a wanderer, here, there and everywhere,
for nothing of yours will move forward with that skill.
Do not look on me, drunk as I am, with eyes of scorn,
for the honour of the sacred law is not lost by so little.
I am a beggar, and I long for one as tall as a cypress,
around whose waist no hand goes except with silver and gold.
You, who in noble character are a world apart,
do not let my faithfulness to our pledge slip from your mind.
I see no one whose record is blacker than my own;
how could the smoke of my heart not rise to my head, like my pen's?
Do not lure me from the road with the hoopoe's crown, for the white falcon
does not chase, like the sparrowhawk, after every petty prey.
Bring wine, and give it first into Hafez's hand,
on condition that no word leaves this gathering.