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| Iranian Poetry |
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| The advise of the Wise Loghman to his son. 16. O my dear son! Lo! though it be but the weight of a grain of mustard-seed, and though it be in a rock, or in the heavens, or in the earth, Allah will bring it forth. Lo Allah is Subtile, Aware. 17. O my dear son! Establish worship and enjoin kindness and forbid iniquity, and preservere whatever may befall thee. Lo! that is of the steadfast heart of things. 18. Turn not thy cheek in scorn toward folk, nor walk with pertness in the land. Lo! Allah loveth not each braggart boaster. 19. Be modest in thy bearing and subdue thy voice. Lo! the harshest of all voices is the voice of the ass. |
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| Sweeter than Hyacinths to me is borne The Breeze that,sighing,from thy Curls is torn; All night when I have pressed thy Picture close The scent of Roses fills my Couch at Dawn. |
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| Ah,when will Heath to my Sick Heart return ! The Good Advice I give it does but spurn. Flung to the Winds, 'twill not be borne away, Cast in the Flames,alas,it will not burn. |
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| Dawn Thus spoke at dawn field-bird to the newly wakened rose: "Be kind,for many a bloom like you in this meadow grows." The rose laughed:"You will find that we at truth show no ditress , But never did a lover with harsh words his love so press. If ruby wine from jewelled cup it is your wish to drink, Then pearls and corals pierced with eyelash you must strive to link. Love 's savour to his nostrils to entice he ne'er can seek, Who on the tavern's earthy floor has not swept dusty cheek." In Iram's garden yesternight,when,in the grateful air, The breeze of coming day stirred the tress of hyacinth fair, I asked:"Throne of Jamshid, where is thy world revealing cup? It sighed:"That waking fortune deep in sleep lies muffled up." They are not always words of love that from the tongue descend: Come,bring me wine,O taverner,and to this talk put end. His wit and patience to the waves are cast by Hafiz'Tears. What can he do,that may not hide how love his being sears? |
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| Cup in the hand When my beloved the cup in hand taketh The market of lovely ones slack demand taketh. I,like a fish,in the ocean am fallen, Till me with the hook yonder Friend to land taketh. Every one saith,who her tipsy eye seeth, "Where is a shrive,that this fair firebrand taketh?" Lo, at her feet in lament am I fallen, Till the beloved me by the hand taketh. Happy his heart who,like Hafiz, a goblet Of wine of the Prime Force-eternal brand taketh. |
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