Hafez · Ghazal 460 · Since Salma went to Iraq
سلیمی منذ حلت بالعراقألاقی من نواها ما ألاقی
الا ای ساروان منزل دوستإلی رکبانکم طال اشتیاقی
خرد در زنده‌رود انداز و می نوشبه گلبانگ جوانان عراقی
ربیع العمر فی مرعی حماکمحماک الله یا عهد التلاقی
بیا ساقی بده رطل گرانمسقاک الله من کأس دهاق
جوانی باز می‌آرد به یادمسماع چنگ و دست افشان ساقی
می باقی بده تا مست و خوشدلبه یاران برفشانم عمر باقی
درونم خون شد از نادیدن دوستألا تعسا لأیام الفراق
دموعی بعدکم لا تحقروهافکم بحر عمیق من سواق
دمی با نیکخواهان متفق باشغنیمت دان امور اتفاقی
بساز ای مطرب خوشخوان خوشگوبه شعر فارسی، صوت عراقی
عروسی بس خوشی ای دختر رزولی گه گه سزاوار طلاقی
مسیحای مجرد را برازدکه با خورشید سازد هم‌وثاقی
وصال دوستان روزی ما نیستبخوان حافظ غزل‌های فراقی
Someone or somewhere dear to you may feel far away just now, and Hafez knows that ache well: small tears gather, he says, the way streams make a deep sea. Yet he does not sink into grief. He asks for music, for good company, and for the wisdom to treat each chance meeting as a gift. Spend the life that remains generously on the people who wish you well. Separation and reunion both belong to the song; sing what is true for you now, and keep faith with the time of meeting.
Since Salma came to dwell in Iraq,
I suffer from her distance what I suffer.
O camel-driver bound for the Friend's dwelling,
my longing for your riders has grown long.
Throw reason into the Zayandeh Rud and drink wine
to the rose-songs of the young men of Iraq.
The springtime of life is in the pasture of your sanctuary;
may God protect you, O time of meeting.
Come, saqi, give me a heavy measure;
may God give you to drink from a brimming cup.
Youth comes back to my memory
with the music of the harp and the saqi's dancing hands.
Give me the wine that remains, so that, drunk and glad,
I may scatter the rest of my life over my friends.
My heart has turned to blood from not seeing the Friend;
ah, ruin to the days of separation!
Do not think lightly of my tears since you left,
for many a deep sea is made of streams.
For a moment be in accord with those who wish you well;
count what chance brings you as a gift.
Play, O minstrel of sweet voice and sweet words,
to Persian verse, an Iraqi air.
You are a lovely bride, O daughter of the vine,
but now and then you deserve to be divorced.
It befits the solitary Messiah
to share his lodging with the sun.
Union with friends is not our daily portion;
Hafez, sing your ghazals of separation.