Hafez · Ghazal 331 · If she draws a sword
به تیغم گر کشد، دستش نگیرموگر تیرم زند منت پذیرم
کمان ابرویت را گو بزن تیرکه پیش دست و بازویت بمیرم
غم گیتی گر از پایم درآردبجز ساغر که باشد دستگیرم؟
برآی ای آفتاب صبح امیدکه در دست شب هجران اسیرم
به فریادم رس ای پیر خراباتبه یک جرعه جوانم کن که پیرم
به گیسوی تو خوردم دوش سوگندکه من از پای تو سر بر نگیرم
بسوز این خرقه تقوا تو حافظکه گر آتش شوم در وی نگیرم
At the centre of this short ghazal is a call to the dawn: rise, O sun of the morning of hope, for I am held in the night of separation. If you have been waiting in the dark, Hafez lends you that prayer. He also asks the wise elder to make him young again with a single sip, a reminder that renewal can come quickly. Set aside the stiff cloak of appearances that keeps you from warmth, stay faithful to what you love, and watch for the morning.
If she strikes me with a sword, I will not hold back her hand,
and if she shoots an arrow at me, I will accept it gratefully.
Tell your bow-shaped eyebrow to let its arrow fly,
so that I may die before your hand and arm.
If the sorrow of the world knocks me off my feet,
who but the cup will take me by the hand?
Rise, O sun of the morning of hope,
for I am captive in the hands of the night of separation.
Come to my aid, O elder of the tavern;
with one sip make me young, for I am old.
Last night I swore by your tresses
that I would never lift my head from your feet.
Hafez, burn this cloak of piety,
for even if I became fire, I could not catch in it.