Hafez · Come, the palace of hope is frail
بیا که قصر امل سخت سست بنیادستبیار باده که بنیاد عمر بر بادست
غلام همت آنم که زیر چرخ کبودز هر چه رنگ تعلق پذیرد آزادست
چه گویمت که به میخانه دوش مست و خرابسروش عالم غیبم چه مژده‌ها دادست
که ای بلندنظر شاهباز سدره نشیننشیمن تو نه این کنج محنت آبادست
تو را ز کنگره عرش می زنند صفیرندانمت که در این دامگه چه افتادست
نصیحتی کنمت یاد گیر و در عمل آرکه این حدیث ز پیر طریقتم یادست
غم جهان مخور و پند من مبر از یادکه این لطیفه عشقم ز ره روی یادست
رضا به داده بده وز جبین گره بگشایکه بر من و تو در اختیار نگشادست
مجو درستی عهد از جهان سست نهادکه این عجوز عروس هزاردامادست
نشان عهد و وفا نیست در تبسم گلبنال بلبل بی دل که جای فریادست
حسد چه می بری ای سست نظم بر حافظقبول خاطر و لطف سخن خدادادست
You may be holding on tightly to a plan or an outcome, building on hope as if it were stone. Hafez reminds you, tenderly, that much in this world rests on the wind. Yet his message is not sad: a voice from the unseen calls you a royal falcon, made for wider skies than this corner of worry. Loosen the knot in your brow. Accept what has been given, release what will not stay, and you will feel how much lighter and freer your spirit can be.
Come, for the palace of hope has a very weak foundation;
bring wine, for the foundation of life is on the wind.
I am the slave of the aspiration of one who, beneath the blue wheel,
is free of whatever takes on the colour of attachment.
What shall I tell you? Last night in the tavern, drunk and ruined,
the angel of the unseen world gave me such glad tidings:
"O far-seeing royal falcon, perched on the Lote Tree of the Boundary,
your resting place is not this corner of sorrow.
"From the battlements of the Throne they are whistling to call you;
I do not know what has befallen you in this place of snares."
I will give you a piece of advice; learn it and put it into practice,
for I remember these words from the elder of my path:
Do not grieve over the world, and do not forget my counsel,
for I remember this subtle saying of love from a wayfarer.
Consent to what is given, and untie the knot from your brow,
for the door of choice has not been opened to you or me.
Do not look for a firm pledge from this world of frail nature,
for this old crone is the bride of a thousand bridegrooms.
There is no sign of promise or faith in the smile of the rose;
lament, O heartless nightingale, for this is a place for crying out.
Why envy Hafez, O you of feeble verse?
Acceptance in hearts and grace of speech are gifts from God.