Hafez · Come, let us scatter roses
بیا تا گل برافشانیم و می در ساغر اندازیمفلک را سقف بشکافیم و طرحی نو دراندازیم
اگر غم لشکر انگیزد که خون عاشقان ریزدمن و ساقی به هم تازیم و بنیادش براندازیم
شراب ارغوانی را گلاب اندر قدح ریزیمنسیم عطرگردان را شِکَر در مجمر اندازیم
چو در دست است رودی خوش بزن مطرب سرودی خوشکه دست افشان غزل خوانیم و پاکوبان سر اندازیم
صبا خاک وجود ما بدان عالی جناب اندازبود کان شاه خوبان را نظر بر منظر اندازیم
یکی از عقل می لافد یکی طامات می بافدبیا کاین داوری‌ها را به پیش داور اندازیم
بهشت عدن اگر خواهی بیا با ما به میخانهکه از پای خمت روزی به حوض کوثر اندازیم
سخندانیّ و خوشخوانی نمی ورزند در شیرازبیا حافظ که تا خود را به ملکی دیگر اندازیم
This is a call to courage and fresh beginnings. Hafez does not wait for the sky to change; he proposes to split its roof and draw a new design. If grief has gathered its forces against you, you need not face it alone: find your saqi, your companion, and meet it together. Fill the days with small sweetnesses, music and good company. Leave arguments about who is right to the true Judge. And if the place you are in does not value what you offer, the final line allows you to imagine another. A new chapter is within your reach.
Come, let us scatter roses and pour wine into the cup;
let us split the roof of heaven and lay down a new design.
If grief should raise an army to shed the blood of lovers,
the saqi and I will charge together and tear down its foundation.
Let us pour rosewater into the cup of crimson wine,
and cast sugar into the censer for the fragrance-bearing breeze.
Since a sweet lute is in your hand, minstrel, play a sweet song,
so that, hands waving, we may sing ghazals and, feet stamping, toss our heads.
Breeze, carry the dust of our being to that exalted presence;
it may be we shall set eyes upon that king of the fair.
One boasts of reason, another weaves idle wonders;
come, let us bring these disputes before the Judge.
If you want the Garden of Eden, come with us to the tavern,
for from the foot of the wine-jar we will one day cast you into the pool of Kawthar.
In Shiraz they do not prize fine speech and sweet singing;
come, Hafez, let us take ourselves to another land.