Poems from the Divan of Hafiz

The rose is not fair without the beloved’s face, Nor merry the Spring without the sweet laughter of wine; The path through the fields, and winds from a flower-strewn place, Without her bright cheek, which glows like a tulip fine, Nor winds softly blowing, fields deep in corn, are fair.

Mine enemies have persecuted me, My Love has turned and fled from out my door— God counts our tears and knows our misery; Ah, weep not! He has heard thy weeping sore. And chained in poverty and plunged in night, Oh Hafiz, take thy Koran and recite Litanies infinite, and weep no more!

My lady, that did change this house of mine Into a heaven when that she dwelt therein, From head to foot an angel’s grace divine Enwrapped her; pure she was, spotless of sin; Fair as the moon her countenance, and wise; Lords of the kind and tender glance, her eyes With an abounding loveliness did shine.

_Stanza 1._—King Solomon sent the lapwing or hoopoe as his messenger to Bilkis, Queen of Sheba. The story is told thus by Al Ta’labi, in his Stories of the Prophets. (The lapwing had already made a journey on his own account, and had brought Solomon news of the great Queen, and told him that she was not a worshipper of the true God.) “Then Solomon wrote a letter saying: From the servant of God, Solomon, son of David, to Bilkis, Queen of Saba, in the name of God the Merciful, the Compassionate, peace be upon him who follows the right road. After which he said: Behave not insolently towards me, but come unto me humbled. And he strewed musk upon it and sealed it with his seal. Then he said to the lapwing: Fly with this letter and deliver it unto them, then turn away, but remain near them and hear what answer they make. And the lapwing took the letter and flew with it to Bilkis. And she was in the land which is called Marib, at a distance of three days’ journey, and she had entered into her castle, and the gates of it were shut. For when she slept she was wont to shut the gates and to take the key and lay it beneath her head. So the lapwing came unto her, and she was asleep, lying upon her back; and he laid the letter upon her breast. Wahb ibn Manabbih says that there was a window opposite to the sun so that the sunbeams fell through it at dawn, and when she saw the sun she was wont to bow down and worship it. And the lapwing went to this window and blocked it up with his wings. And the sun rose, but she knew it not. And she thought that the sun was late, and stood up to look for it. Then the lapwing threw a leaf upon her face. And they say that Bilkis took the letter and she was able to read the writing. But when she saw the seal she trembled and bowed down, because of the power of Solomon that was in his seal. For she knew that the power of him who had sent the letter was greater than hers, and she said: Lo, here is a king whose messengers are the birds; verily he is a mighty king.”

From Canaan Joseph shall return, whose face A little time was hidden: weep no more— Oh, weep no more! in sorrow’s dwelling-place The roses yet shall spring from the bare floor! And heart bowed down beneath a secret pain— Oh stricken heart! joy shall return again, Peace to the love-tossed brain—oh, weep no more!

Oh Hafiz, seeking an end to strife, Hold fast in thy mind what the wise have writ: “If at last thou attain the desire of thy life, Cast the world aside, yea, abandon it!”

_Stanza 2._—See Note to Stanza 1 of Poem III.

And when the spirit of Hafiz has fled, Follow his bier with a tribute of sighs; Though the ocean of sin has closed o’er his head, He may find a place in God’s Paradise.

‏قضا دستيست پنج انگشت دارد چه خواهد از کسي کامي برآرد‎

I fear the outcome of these directions is too often “amphora coepit institui, currente rota cur urceus exit,” and perhaps the advice of Horace may be the better of the two—“denique sit, quod vis, simplex dumtaxat et unum.”

The conception of the union and interdependence of all things divine and human is far older than Sufi thought. It goes back to the earliest Indian teaching, and Professor Deussen, in his book on Metaphysics, has pointed out the conclusion which is drawn from it in the Veda. “The gospels,” he says, “fix quite correctly as the highest law of morality, Love thy neighbour as thyself. But why should I do so, since by the order of nature I feel pain and pleasure only in myself, not in my neighbour? The answer is not in the Bible (this venerable book being not yet quite free from Semitic realism), but it is in the Veda: You shall love your neighbour as yourselves because you _are_ your neighbour; a mere illusion makes you believe that your neighbour is something different from yourselves. Or in the words of the Bhagaradgitah: He who knows himself in everything and everything in himself, will not injure himself by himself. This is the sum and tenor of all morality, and this is the standpoint of a man knowing himself a Brahman.”

_Stanza 1._—The story of the creation of Adam, and of the part played in it by the angels, is told by Mahommad in the following terms: “When thy Lord said unto the angels, I am going to place a substitute on earth; they said, Wilt thou place there one who will do evil therein, and shed blood? but we celebrate thy praise and sanctify thee. God answered, Verily I know that which ye know not; and he taught Adam the names of all things, and then proposed them to the angels, and said, Declare unto me the names of these things if ye say truth. They answered, Praise be unto thee, we have no knowledge but what thou teachest us, for thou art knowing and wise. God said, Oh Adam, tell them their names. And when he had told them their names, God said, Did I not tell you that I know the secrets of heaven and earth, and know that which ye discover and that which ye conceal? And when we said unto the angels, Worship Adam; they all worshipped him, except Eblis, who refused, and was puffed up with pride, and became of the number of unbelievers.”—_Koran_, chap. ii.

_Stanza 3._—The Zindeh Rud was a river that flowed past Isfahan. There are unfortunately no longer rose gardens upon its banks, for it disappeared completely in the terrible earthquake which occurred in the spring of the year 1853. I suspect from internal evidence that this poem was sent to some friends of Hafiz living at Isfahan, upon whom the passionate appeal need reflect no discredit, since it may quite possibly be merely the Oriental way of writing a letter of thanks. At the same time, in spite of this rational explanation, it must be acknowledged that the meaning of the name Zindeh Rud is River of Life. I tremble to think into what a slough of mysticism the innocent little stream might be induced to guide us!

The Arab traveller Ibn Batuta, who visited Shiraz between the years 1340 and 1350, has left a description of its ruler: “Abu Ishac,” says he, “is one of the best Sultans that can be found” (it must be confessed that the average of Sultans was not very high in Ibn Batuta’s time); “he is fair of face, imposing of presence, and his conduct is no less to be admired. His mind is generous, his character remarkable, and he is modest although his power is great and his territories extensive. His army exceeds the number of 30,000 men, Turks and Persians. The most faithful of his subjects are the inhabitants of Isfahan; but he fears the Shirazis, who are a brave people, not to be controlled by kings, and he will not trust them with arms.”[2] This view of his relations with the two towns tallies with Abu Ishac’s subsequent history, and points to a considerable power of observation on the part of Ibn Batuta. But he relates a tale which would seem to show that Abu Ishac was not unpopular even in Shiraz: on a certain occasion he wished to build a great gate in that city, and hearing of his desire the inhabitants vied with each other in their eagerness to satisfy it; men of all ranks turned out to do the work, putting on their best clothes and digging the foundations with spades of silver. Abu Ishac shared the passion of the age for letters, and was anxious to be accounted a rival to the King of Delhi in his generosity to men of learning; “but,” sighs Ibn Batuta, “how far is the earth removed from the Pleiades!” The Persian historian who describes Abu Ishac’s execution, quotes a quatrain which the Atabeg is supposed to have written while he was in prison:

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The story of the creation as told in the Koran it is impossible for the Sufis to accept; they are bound to give an outward adhesion to it, but in their hearts they treat it as an allegory. The world is posterior to God only in the nature of its existence and not in time: the Sufis were not far from the doctrine of the eternity of matter, from which they were only withheld by the necessity of conforming with the teaching of the Koran. They content themselves with saying that the world came into existence when it pleased God to manifest himself beyond himself, and will cease when it shall please him to return into himself again. It is more difficult to dispose of the resurrection of the body, which is constantly insisted upon by Mahommad. That the soul, when it has at last attained to complete union with God, should be obliged to return to the prison from whence it has escaped at death, is entirely repugnant to all Sufis; nor can they explain satisfactorily the divergence of their opinions from those of the Prophet.

Lady that hast my heart within thy hand, Thou heed’st me not; and if thou turn thine ear Unto the wise, thou shalt not understand— Behold the fault is thine, our words were clear. For all the tumult in my drunken brain Praise God! who trieth not His slave in vain; Nor this world nor the next shall make me fear!

_Stanza 2._—“Love and Faith,” says Rosenzweig, is the name of a well-known Persian story which has been retold by many writers.

To them that here renowned for virtue live, A heavenly palace is the meet reward; To me, the drunkard and the beggar, give The temple of the grape with red wine stored! Beside a river seat thee on the sward; It floweth past—so flows thy life away, So sweetly, swiftly, fleets our little day— Swift, but enough for me!

In the garden of Mosalla, Hafiz lies buried; the stream Ruknabad flows near at hand.

Look not upon the dimple of her chin, Danger lurks there! Where wilt thou hide, oh trembling heart, fleeing in Such mad haste—where?

My weary heart eternal silence keeps— I know not who has slipped into my heart; Though I am silent, one within me weeps. My soul shall rend the painted veil apart. Where art thou, Minstrel! touch thy saddest strings Till clothed in music such as sorrow sings, My mournful story from thy zither sweeps.

_Behold we laugh, we warm us at Love’s fire, We thirst and scarce dare tell what wine we crave, We lift our voices in Grief’s dark-robed choir; Sing thou the wisdom joy and sorrow gave! If my poor rhymes held aught of the heart’s lore, Fresh wreaths were theirs to lay upon thy grave— Master and Poet, all was thine before!_

_Stanza 1._—There are many ways of taking omens which are still practised by the Persians. Concerning astrology and geomancy Mr. Browne questioned a learned Persian, and received the reply that there was positive proof of their truth. The Persian added, however, that the study of these sciences was very difficult, and many who professed to be acquainted with them were mere charlatans. Many dreams also, he said, were capable of interpretation, and might furnish indications to events which were yet to come. Mr. Browne relates that he consulted a geomancer, who, by means of dice, gave him much information as to his future—none of which has yet been justified by the event—but on being asked to perform the less difficult task of answering some questions as to his past, turned the conversation into other channels. “I discussed,” says the traveller, “the occult sciences with several of my friends, to discover as far as possible the prevailing opinion among them.” One of them made use of the following argument to prove their existence: “God,” he said, “has no _bukhl_ (avarice); it is impossible for Him to withhold from any one a thing for which he strives with sufficient earnestness. Just as if a man devotes all his energies to the pursuit of spiritual knowledge he attains to it, so if he chooses to make occult sciences and magical powers the object of his aspirations they will assuredly not be withheld from him.”—_A Year Amongst the Persians._

Singer, sweet Singer, fresh notes strew, Fresh and afresh and new and new! Heart-gladdening wine thy lips imbrue, Fresh and afresh and new and new!

The days of absence and the bitter nights Of separation, all are at an end! Where is the influence of the star that blights My hope? The omen answers: At an end! Autumn’s abundance, creeping Autumn’s mirth, Are ended and forgot when o’er the earth The wind of Spring with soft warm feet doth wend.

Before the milk upon thy lips was dry, I said: “Lips where the salt of wit doth lie, Sweets shall be mingled with thy mockery, And not in vain!”

“Let her shoot from beneath her eyelashes a hundred glances, challenging and victorious.

“In this country (_i.e._ North-Eastern China) is found the best musk in the world, and I will tell you how it is produced. There exists in that region a kind of wild animal like a gazelle. It has feet and tail like the gazelle’s, a stag’s hair of a very coarse kind, but no horns. It has four tusks, two below and two above, about three inches long, and slender in form, one pair growing downwards and the other upwards. It is a very pretty creature. The musk is found in this way: when the creature has been taken, they find at the navel, between the flesh and the skin, something like an imposthume filled with blood, which they cut out and remove, with all the skin attached to it; and the blood inside this imposthume is the musk that produces that powerful perfume. There is an immense number of these beasts in the country we are speaking of. The flesh is very good to eat. Messer Marco brought the dried head and feet of one of these animals to Venice with him.”—_Travels of Marco Polo._

Oh Cup-bearer, set my glass afire With the light of wine! oh minstrel, sing: The world fulfilleth my heart’s desire! Reflected within the goblet’s ring I see the glow of my Love’s red cheek, And scant of wit, ye who fail to seek The pleasures that wine alone can bring!

Light of mine eyes and harvest of my heart, And mine at least in changeless memory! Ah, when he found it easy to depart, He left the harder pilgrimage to me! Oh Camel-driver, though the cordage start, For God’s sake help me lift my fallen load, And Pity be my comrade of the road!

The long confusion of the nights that were, Anguish that dwelt within my heart, is o’er; ’Neath the protection of my lady’s hair Grief nor disquiet come to me no more. What though her curls wrought all my misery, My lady’s gracious face can comfort me, And at the end give what I sorrow for.

Oh Turkish maid of Shiraz! in thy hand If thou’lt take my heart, for the mole on thy cheek I would barter Bokhara and Samarkand. Bring, Cup-bearer, all that is left of thy wine! In the Garden of Paradise vainly thou’lt seek The lip of the fountain of Ruknabad, And the bowers of Mosalla where roses twine.

The bird of gardens sang unto the rose, New blown in the clear dawn: “Bow down thy head! As fair as thou within this garden close, Many have bloomed and died.” She laughed and said: “That I am born to fade grieves not my heart; But never was it a true lover’s part To vex with bitter words his love’s repose.”

The angel Gabriel, the Holy Spirit, is the highest of all the angels. It is his duty to write down the decrees of God; through him the Koran was revealed to Mahommad, and it is he who, hovering above the throne of God, shelters it with his wings. Hafiz therefore claims for Shiraz the protection of him who is guardian of the highest place in heaven.

Light-hearted to the tavern let me go, Where laughs the pipe, the merry cymbals kiss; Under the history of all my woe, My mistress sets her hand and writes: Finis. Oh, linger not, nor trust the inconstant days That promised: Where thou art thy lady stays— The tale of separation ends with this!

Red wine I worship, and I worship her!— Speak not to me of anything beside, For nought but these on earth or heaven I care. What though the proud narcissus flowers defied Thy shining eyes to prove themselves more bright, Yet heed them not! those that are clear of sight Follow not them to whom all light’s denied.

_Stanza 3._—Joseph is the Oriental type of perfect beauty. The story of his relations with Zuleikha, Potiphar’s wife, is one of the famous love stories of the East; Jami made it the theme of a long metaphysical poem. The part played by Zuleikha in Persian tales is far more creditable than that which is assigned to her either in the Bible or the Koran.

Renan has put into a few luminous sentences his view of the mystical poets of India and Persia. “On sait que dans ces pays,” he says, “s’est développée une vaste littérature où l’amour divin et l’amour terrestre se croisent d’une façon souvent difficile à démêler. L’origine de ce singulier genre de poésie est une question qui n’est pas encore éclaircie. Dans beaucoup de cas les sens mystiques prêtés à certaines poésies érotiques persanes et hindoues n’ont pas plus de réalité que les allégories du Cantique des Cantiques. Pour Hafiz, par exemple, il semble bien que l’explication allégorique est le plus souvent un fruit de la fantaisie des commentateurs, ou des précautions que les admirateurs du poète étaient obligés de prendre pour sauver l’orthodoxie de leur auteur favori. Puis l’imagination étant montée sur ce thème, et les esprits étant faussés par une exégèse qui ne voulait voir partout qu’allégories, on en est venu à faire des poèmes réellement à double sens. Comme ceux de Djellaleddin Rumi, de Wali, &c.... Dans l’Inde et la Perse ce genre de poésie (érotico-mystique) est le fruit d’un extrème raffinement, d’une imagination vive et portée au quiétisme, d’un certain goût du mystère, et aussi, en Perse du moins, de l’hypocrisie imposée par le fanatisme musulman. C’est, en effet, comme réaction contre la sécheresse de l’Islamisme que le soufisme a fait fortune chez les musulmans non arabes. Il y faut voir une révolte de l’esprit arien contre l’effroyante simplicité de l’esprit sémitique, excluant par la rigueur de sa théologie toute devotion particulière, toute doctrine secrète, toute combinaison religieuse vivante et variée.”[15]

The word bezoar comes from two Arabic roots which signify the annihilator of poison. Murray gives several examples of its use by seventeenth and eighteenth century writers in the sense of an antidote, chiefly to snake bites. Topsell, for instance, in his book on Serpents (1607), remarks that “the juice of apples being drunk, and endive, are the proper Bezoar against the venom of a Phalangie”—whatever that may be. The word was also applied to various substances held as antidotes, especially to a concretion found in the stomach of some animals, formed of concentric layers of animal matter deposited round some foreign substance. This concretion was called the bezoar stone. The original sort was the lapis bezoar orientale obtained from the wild goat of Persia, which was in later times called the bezoar goat; also from various antelopes, &c. The lapis bezoar occidentale, obtained from the llamas of Peru, was less valued. The chamois yielded German bezoar. “The stone,” says Frampton, in his “Joyful News,” “is called the Bezaar, being approved good against Venome”; and Hawkins, in his “Voyage to the South Seas,” talks about “the becunia and other beasts which breed the beazer stone.”

Weary I turn me to my bonds again. Once there were hands strong to deliver me, Forget not when they broke a poor slave’s chain! Though from mine eyes tears flow unceasingly, I think on them whose rose gardens are set Beside the Zindeh Rud, and I forget Life’s misery.

_Stanza 1._—Khizr. See Note to Stanza 3 of Poem XVIII.

His friend’s bright face warms not the enemy When love is done— Where is the extinguished lamp that made night day, Where is the sun?

The waves run high, night is clouded with fears, And eddying whirlpools clash and roar; How shall my drowning voice strike their ears Whose light-freighted vessels have reached the shore?

“Verily our messengers write down that which ye deceitfully devise,” says the Koran (chap. x.). Two guardian angels attend every man and write down his actions; they are changed daily and a fresh pair takes their place. The books which they have written shall be produced on the Day of Judgment.

Look upon all the gold in the world’s mart, On all the tears the world hath shed in vain; Shall they not satisfy thy craving heart? I have enough of loss, enough of gain; I have my Love, what more can I obtain? Mine is the joy of her companionship Whose healing lip is laid upon my lip— This is enough for me!

Unto mine eyes a stranger, thou that art A comrade ever-present to my heart, What whispered prayers and what full meed of praise I send to thee.

Welcome, oh rose, and full-blown eglantine! The violets their scented gladness fling, Jasmin breathes purity—art sorrowing Like an unopened bud, oh heart of mine? The wind of dawn that sets closed blossoms free Brings its warm airs to thee.

The secret draught of wine and love repressed Are joys foundationless—then come whate’er May come, slave to the grape I stand confessed! Unloose, oh friend, the knot of thy heart’s care, Despite the warning that the Heavens reveal! For all his thought, never astronomer That loosed the knot of Fate those Heavens conceal!

_Stanza 4._—Concerning the Last Judgment, a beautiful tradition relates that there are seven degrees of punishment, but eight of blessedness, because God’s mercy exceeds His justice.