Up, cupbearer! Let us pay the wine's wage
Strew with dust the sorrow of our age
Give me the wine cup; that, joy-possessed,
I may tear this blue cowl from my breast
Wise men may think me bare to shame
But I do not care for name or fame
Bring me wine! How many a man lost
With wind of pride the honor for dust?
My bosom fumes, my sighs so loud
Burned yon crude unfeeling crowd
The secret of my mad heart, none can know
Even the people of both high and low
Even by that sweetheart charmed am I,
Who once from my heart magic sweetness fly
The one who once saw my Silvern tree
Can he see the cypress that in the turf can be?
Hafiz! Be patient in adversity night and day
Till you will see a bed of roses on your way
English Translation © Ali Salami
Tehran, Iran
salamii@ut.ac.ir
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem