Hafez · Ghazal 27 · My beloved came, cup in hand
در دیر مغان آمد، یارم قدحی در دستمست از می و میخواران از نرگس مستش مست
در نعل سمند او شکل مه نو پیداوز قد بلند او بالای صنوبر، پست
آخر به چه گویم هست از خود خبرم، چون نیستوز بهر چه گویم نیست با وی نظرم، چون هست
شمع دل دمسازم، بنشست چو او برخاستو افغان ز نظربازان، برخاست چو او بنشست
گر غالیه خوش بو شد، در گیسوی او پیچیدور وسمه کمانکش گشت، در ابروی او پیوست
بازآی که بازآید عمر شده حافظهرچند که ناید باز، تیری که بشد از شست
Someone or something has entered your life with such presence that everything else seems pale beside it, and you may find you cannot pretend to be unmoved. Hafez does not pretend either; he simply says so. His closing line holds both hope and wisdom: come back, so that life may come back, though a shot arrow does not return. Some things that seemed lost can return and bring new life with them; others are gone like the arrow. Welcome what can come back with an open heart, and let the rest go without regret.
My beloved came into the Magians' monastery, a cup in hand,
drunk with wine, and the wine-drinkers drunk with her drunken eyes.
In the shoe of her horse the shape of the new moon appears,
and beside her tall stature the height of the pine is low.
How can I say I am aware of myself, when I am not?
And why should I say my eyes are not on her, when they are?
The candle of my companion heart sank down when she rose,
and a cry rose from the gazers when she sat down.
If perfume became fragrant, it was because it twined in her hair;
if the indigo took the curve of a bow, it was because it joined her eyebrow.
Come back, so that Hafez's vanished life may come back,
though an arrow that has left the bowstring never comes back.