Hafez · Ghazal 267 · O breeze, if you pass the Aras
ای صبا گر بگذری بر ساحل رود ارسبوسه زن بر خاک آن وادی و مشکین کن نفس
منزل سلمی که بادش هر دم از ما صد سلامپر صدای ساربانان بینی و بانگ جرس
محمل جانان ببوس، آن‌گه به زاری عرضه دارکز فراقت سوختم ای مهربان فریاد رس
من که قول ناصحان را خواندمی قول ربابگوش‌مالی دیدم از هجران که اینم پند بس
عشرت شب‌گیر کن، می نوش کاندر راه عشقشب‌روان را آشنایی‌هاست با میر عسس
عشق‌بازی کار بازی نیست ای دل! سر بباززان که گوی عشق نتوان زد به چوگان هوس
دل به رغبت می‌سپارد جان به چشم مست یارگر چه هشیاران ندادند اختیار خود به کس
طوطیان در شکرستان کامرانی می‌کنندو از تحسر دست بر سر می‌زند مسکین مگس
نام حافظ گر برآید بر زبان کلک دوستاز جناب حضرت شاهم بس است این ملتمس
Send your longing on the breeze, Hafez says, and let it carry your greeting to the place your heart calls home. Distance has taught you something, as it taught him; let it be a lesson rather than a wound. Love asks for wholeheartedness, not half measures: the ball of love cannot be struck with the stick of whim. Speak honestly of what you feel, and ask for little in return. To be remembered, to have your name spoken once with care, is already a great gift.
O breeze, if you pass by the banks of the river Aras,
kiss the soil of that valley and make your breath fragrant with musk.
Salma's dwelling, on which be a hundred greetings from us every moment:
you will find it full of the cries of camel-drivers and the ringing of bells.
Kiss the beloved's litter, and then plead with tears:
"I have burned in your absence; O kind one, come to my help."
I, who used to hear the words of advisers as strains of the rebab,
have had my ears pulled by separation: this lesson is enough for me.
Take your pleasure through the night and drink wine, for on the road of love
those who walk by night are on good terms with the captain of the watch.
Love's play is no game, O heart: stake your head,
for the ball of love cannot be struck with the polo-stick of whim.
The heart gladly gives up its life to the friend's drunken eye,
though the sober have never surrendered their will to anyone.
The parrots are taking their pleasure in the sugar-cane field,
while the poor fly beats its head with its hands in regret.
If Hafez's name should come upon the tongue of the Friend's pen,
that alone is all I ask of my King's high court.