Hafez · Ghazal 346 · I am not that kind of rend
من نه آن رندم که ترک شاهد و ساغر کنممحتسب داند که من این کارها کمتر کنم
من که عیب توبه‌کاران کرده باشم بارهاتوبه از می وقت گل دیوانه باشم گر کنم
عشق دردانه‌ست و من غواص و دریا میکدهسر فروبردم در آن جا تا کجا سر برکنم
لاله ساغرگیر و نرگس مست و بر ما نام فسقداوری دارم بسی یا رب، که را داور کنم؟
بازکش یک دم عنان ای ترک شهرآشوب منتا ز اشک و چهره راهت پر زر و گوهر کنم
من که از یاقوت و لعل اشک دارم گنج‌هاکی نظر در فیض خورشید بلنداختر کنم
چون صبا مجموعه گل را به آب لطف شستکج دلم خوان، گر نظر بر صفحه دفتر کنم
عهد و پیمان فلک را نیست چندان اعتبارعهد با پیمانه بندم، شرط با ساغر کنم
من که دارم در گدایی گنج سلطانی به دستکی طمع در گردش گردون دون‌پرور کنم
گر چه گردآلود فقرم، شرم باد از همتمگر به آب چشمه خورشید دامن تر کنم
عاشقان را گر در آتش می‌پسندد لطف دوستتنگ چشمم گر نظر در چشمه کوثر کنم
دوش لعلش عشوه‌ای می‌داد حافظ را، ولیمن نه آنم کز وی این افسانه‌ها باور کنم
It is the season of roses, Hafez says, and he would be foolish to turn away from it. Love is a pearl, and he has dived into the sea for it. This ghazal encourages you to trust the treasure you already hold rather than wait on the turning sky, whose promises are unreliable. Even in want, you can carry a sultan's wealth inside. Enjoy the season you are in, keep your self-respect, and let the beauty in front of you be your book for now.
I am not the kind of rend to give up the beloved and the cup;
the market inspector knows I am not much given to that.
I, who have so often mocked those who repent,
would be mad to repent of wine in the season of roses.
Love is a precious pearl, I am the diver, and the tavern is the sea;
I have plunged my head in there; let us see where I come up.
The tulip holds the cup, the narcissus is drunk, and the name of sin falls on us;
I have many a complaint, O Lord: whom shall I make the judge?
Draw in your rein a moment, O my Turk who sets the city in uproar,
so that I may fill your path with gold and gems from my face and my tears.
I, who have treasures of ruby and garnet in my tears,
why should I look to the bounty of the high-starred sun?
Since the breeze has washed the album of the rose in the water of grace,
call me crooked-hearted if I look at the page of a book.
The pledges and covenants of the sky are not so reliable;
I make my pact with the cup and my terms with the goblet.
I, who in beggary hold a sultan's treasure in my hand,
why should I covet the turning of a sky that favours the base?
Though I am dusty with poverty, shame on my aspiration
if I wet my hem in the water of the sun's spring.
If the Friend's grace approves of lovers in the fire,
I would be narrow-eyed to look toward the spring of Kawthar.
Last night her ruby lip was offering Hafez coy promises, but
I am not one to believe such fables from it.