Hafiz - Roses in my breast

 When thus I sit with roses in my breast,
Wine in my hand, and the Beloved kind;
I ask no more—the world can take the rest.

Even the Sultan's self is, to my mind,
On such a planetary night as this,
Compared with me a veritable slave.
No need of candles where my loved one is !

Is not the moon of her bright cheek at full ?
Such eyes would fill with light the very grave.
No need of perfumes ! the Belovéd's hair
Wafts such a fragrance to the feasting sense
That all this vinous tavern smells of myrrh
And musk and ambergris and frankincense.

In this our order of the Magian creed
Wine lawful is, but, were thy face away -
O rose that hath a cypress for thy stem —

- - -

Nay, Sufi, go thy ways, let HAFIZ be!
Tonight the never-ending fast is done,
And the great feast comes in with minstrelsy:
Here shall we sit, until the rising sun
Glitters on rose and jasmine – I and She.

New Nightingale, New Rose
by Hafiz of Shiraz
translated by Andrew Phillip Smith