Hafez · Ghazal 66 · Lament, nightingale
بنال بلبل اگر با منت سر یاری‌ستکه ما دو عاشق زاریم و کار ما زاری‌ست
در آن زمین که نسیمی وزد ز طره دوستچه جای دم زدن نافه‌های تاتاری‌ست
بیار باده که رنگین کنیم جامه زرقکه مست جام غروریم و نام هشیاری‌ست
خیال زلف تو پختن نه کار هر خامی‌ستکه زیر سلسله رفتن طریق عیاری‌ست
لطیفه‌ای‌ست نهانی که عشق از او خیزدکه نام آن نه لب لعل و خط زنگاری‌ست
جمال شخص، نه چشم است و زلف و عارض و خالهزار نکته در این کار و بار دلداری‌ست
قلندران حقیقت به نیم جو نخرندقبای اطلس آن کس که از هنر عاری‌ست
بر آستان تو مشکل توان رسید آریعروج بر فلک سروری به دشواری‌ست
سحر کرشمه چشمت به خواب می‌دیدمزهی مراتب خوابی که به ز بیداری‌ست
دلش به ناله میازار و ختم کن حافظکه رستگاری جاوید در کم آزاری‌ست
This ghazal asks you to look past surfaces. What draws love is not a perfect face or fine clothes but a hidden quality that cannot be named, and the same is true of you. Hafez also admits that what is worth reaching takes effort and courage, and is not for the half-hearted. Then he gives gentle counsel: say your piece, but do not burden others with endless complaint. Lasting peace, he says, comes from causing as little hurt as you can.
Lament, nightingale, if you have a mind to keep me company,
for we are two weeping lovers, and weeping is our work.
In that land where a breeze blows from the Friend's tress,
what room is there for the musk-pods of Tartary to breathe?
Bring wine, so we may stain the robe of hypocrisy,
for we are drunk on the cup of pride, and call it sobriety.
To nurse the fancy of your curl is not for every raw beginner:
to walk beneath the chain is the way of the bold.
There is a hidden subtlety from which love arises,
whose name is not the ruby lip, nor the down of green.
A person's beauty is not the eye and curl, the cheek and mole;
there are a thousand fine points in the art of winning hearts.
The qalandars of truth would not give half a barleycorn
for the satin cloak of someone bare of virtue.
Your threshold is hard to reach; yes,
the climb to the heaven of greatness is a difficult one.
At dawn I saw in a dream the coquetry of your eye:
how fine the rank of a sleep that is better than waking!
Do not hurt her heart with your laments; bring it to an end, Hafez,
for lasting salvation lies in harming little.