Poems from the Divan of Hafiz

What drunkenness is this that brings me hope— Who was the Cup-bearer, and whence the wine? That minstrel singing with full voice divine, What lay was his? for ’mid the woven rope Of song, he brought word from my Friend to me Set to his melody.

_Stanza 3._—Rosenzweig, in his edition of the Divan, says that the allusion is to the dust and water which God kneaded into the body of Adam, and that, out of derision, Hafiz calls the human body a house of joy.

_Stanza 1._—The first line of this song, the opening poem in the Divan, is borrowed from an Arabic poem by Yezid ibn Moawiyah, the second Khalif of the Ommiad line. This prince was held in abomination by the Persian Shi’ites, both as the head of the Sunnis and because he was the cause of the death of Hussein, the son of Ali, whom the Shi’ites regarded as the rightful successor to the Khalifate. Hafiz was frequently reproached for setting a quotation from the works of the abhorred Yezid at the head of his book, a reproach which he is said to have met with the reply, that it was good policy to steal from the heretics whatsoever they possessed of worth.

The sugar-loving birds of distant Ind, Except a Persian sweetmeat that was brought To fair Bengal, have found nought to their mind. See how my song, that in one night was wrought, Defies the limits set by space and time! O’er plains and mountain-tops my fearless rhyme, Child of a night, its year-long road shall find.

Roses have bloomed, yet no bird rejoiced, No vibrating throat has rung with the tale; What can have silenced the hundred-voiced? What has befallen the nightingale? Heaven’s music is hushed, and the planets roll In silence; has Zohra broken her lute? There is none to press out the vine’s ripe fruit, And what has befallen the foaming bowl?

_Stanza 4._—It was this verse which decided the right of Hafiz to receive honourable burial.

I cease not from desire till my desire Is satisfied; or let my mouth attain My love’s red mouth, or let my soul expire, Sighed from those lips that sought her lips in vain. Others may find another love as fair; Upon her threshold I have laid my head, The dust shall cover me, still lying there, When from my body life and love have fled.

_Stanzas 5 and 6._—The accepted explanation of these lines is that by the glass Hafiz means his own heart, which he sends to his mistress that she may see that her own image is reflected in it; but I prefer here (and indeed for the whole poem) a mystical interpretation. The heavenly voice tells him to seek for comfort in Sufiism, and bids him look upon the mirror, for he shall see God himself reflected in it—which is only another way of putting the doctrine that man and God are one. The poet’s reputation has gained him admittance into the company of the Sufis, let him hasten to them, for they shall give him that for which he seeks.

For Heaven’s self was all too weak to bear The burden of His love God laid on it, He turned to seek a messenger elsewhere, And in the Book of Fate my name was writ. Between my Lord and me such concord lies As makes the Huris glad in Paradise, With songs of praise through the green glades they flit.

_Stanza 5._—Shah Shudja, as has been related in the Introduction, was not always on the best of terms with Hafiz, partly because he was jealous of the latter’s fame as a poet, and partly because Hafiz had been the protégé of Shah Shudja’s former rival, Abu Ishac. Accordingly the King looked about for some means of doing the poet an injury, nor was it long before he found what he sought. He accused Hafiz of denying the Resurrection, basing the accusation upon the last couplet of this poem—the last three lines of the present translation—and cited him before the Ulema as an infidel. But Hafiz was too many for him. Before the day on which he was to answer the charge against himself, he inserted another couplet into the ode, in which he stated that the dangerous lines did not express his own opinion, but that of a heretical Christian. He came off with flying colours; for not only was he entirely cleared, but it was also acknowledged that he had dealt a good blow on behalf of the Mahommadan religion, since he had shown up one of the errors of the infidel.

Ah, foolish Heart! the pleasures of To-day, If thou abandon, will To-morrow stand Thy surety for the gold thou’st thrown away? In Sha’aban the troops of Grief disband, And crown the hours with wine’s red coronet— The sun of merriment ere long will set, And meagre Ramazan is close at hand!

Leave me the hope of a former grace— Till the curtain is lifted none can tell Whether in Heaven or deepest Hell, Fair or vile, shall appear his face. Alike the drunk and the strict of fare For his mistress yearns—in the mosque Love doth dwell And the church, for his lodging is everywhere.

Return! that to a heart wounded full sore Valiance and strength may enter in; return! And Life shall pause at the deserted door, The cold dead body breathe again and burn. Oh come! and touch mine eyes, of thy sweet grace, For I am blind to all but to thy face. Open the gates and bid me see once more!

There are supposed to be seventy-two sects in Islam. Many Mahommadan writers compare them to the seventy-two branches of the family of Noah after the Babylonian confusion of tongues and the dispersal of the children of Adam.

Wind from the east, oh Lapwing of the day, I send thee to my Lady, though the way Is far to Saba, where I bid thee fly; Lest in the dust thy tameless wings should lie, Broken with grief, I send thee to thy nest, Fidelity.

It is significant that Hafiz should choose the “narrow-eyed” Tartar robbers as types of cruelty. Just as the Anglo-Saxons prayed to be delivered from the Danes, so a clause in the Persian litany of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries might have been: “From the power of the Tartars, good Lord, deliver us!” First under Hulagu, and then under Timur, they overran and devastated Persia. The destruction wrought by them was very similar to that wrought by the Arab conquerors in the Roman provinces of North Africa. They rased to the ground great cities; they reduced populous and fertile regions to a barren desert by breaking down the old reservoirs and destroying the irrigating system, completely changing the physical conditions of parts of the country. In the mountains to the north of Tehran, for instance, there are villages bearing names the etymology of which points to their having stood at the outlet of a reservoir of which no other trace remains, and it is said that the country surrounding the town was far more thoroughly irrigated before the Tartar invasion, and supported a larger population. The invaders completely destroyed the ancient city of Rhages, which lay at a distance of about three miles from the modern capital. The same thing happened in North Africa. The ruins of Roman towns are to be found in country which must once have been fertile, but which is now reconquered by the sands of the Sahara.

And when from her the wind blows perfume sweet, Tear, Hafiz, like the rose, thy robe in two, And cast thy rags beneath her flying feet, To deck the place thy mistress passes through.

TO HAFIZ OF SHIRAZ

Question the wandering winds and thou shalt know That from the dusk until the dawn doth break, My consolation is that still they blow The perfume of thy curls across my cheek. A dart from thy bent brows has wounded me— Ah, come! my heart still waiteth helplessly, Has waited ever, till thou heal its pain.

_Stanza 3._—To be clothed in one colour is the Persian idiom for sincerity. He means that the single purple robe of the grape is worth more than the hypocritical garment of the dervish, all torn and patched with long journeying—in the wrong road.

_Stanza 2._—For Djemshid, see Note to Stanza 2 of Poem II. He was the fourth king of the First or Pishdadian dynasty, and is supposed to have flourished eight hundred years before the Christian era. Firdusi says he reigned seven hundred years. Kaikobad was the founder of the Second dynasty, the Kayanian. He was set upon the throne by the hero Rustum, son of Zal. It was in his reign that Rustum overcame Afrasiab’s army, killing his own son in the battle “by the great Oxus stream, the yellow Oxus,” a story which all readers of Matthew Arnold know. Kaikobad is said to have reigned one hundred and twenty years. Bahman, another member of the Kayanian house, is better known to the Persians as Ardisher Dirazdast, the Artaxerxes Longimanus of the Greeks. He came to the throne in B.C. 464. He was the grandson of Darius, the Persian Gushtasp. He is supposed to have been the Ahasuerus of Scripture who married Esther. Persian historians ascribe to him also remarkable longevity, and state that he reigned one hundred and twelve years. Kaikaus, mentioned in the next stanza, was the son of Kaikobad, second king of the Kayanian dynasty; Kai may be Kaikhusro, the third king of the same dynasty.

Beloved, who has bid thee ask no more How fares my life? to play the enemy And ask not where he dwells that was thy friend? Thou art the breath of mercy passing o’er The whole wide world, and the offender I; Ah, let the rift my tears have channelled end, Question the past no more!

They have filled the city with blood and broil, Those soft-voiced Lulis for whom we sigh; As Turkish robbers fall on the spoil, They have robbed and plundered the peace of my heart. Dowered is my mistress, a beggar am I; What shall I bring her? a beautiful face Needs nor jewel nor mole nor the tiring-maid’s art.

_Stanza 4._—The river Kausar is another of the streams of Paradise; indeed, it is said to be the central spring from whence all the others flow. A part of its waters are led into a great square lake, a month’s journey in compass. On the banks of this lake the souls of good Mahommadans rest and find refreshment after they have crossed the terrible bridge, sharper than the edge of a sword, which is laid over the midst of Hell. The waters of the lake are whiter than silver and sweeter than musk. Round it are set as many cups as there are stars in the firmament, and he who has drunk of it shall thirst no more.

That, that is not the flame of Love’s true fire Which makes the torchlight shadows dance in rings, But where the radiance draws the moth’s desire And sends him forth with scorched and drooping wings. The heart of one who dwells retired shall break, Rememb’ring a black mole and a red cheek, And his life ebb, sapped at its secret springs.

Like to a cruel Ethiopian band, Sorrow despoiled the kingdom of my heart— Return! glad Lord of Rome, and free the land; Before thine arms the foe shall break and part. See now, I hold a mirror to mine eyes, And nought but thy reflection therein lies; The glass speaks truth to them that understand.

I pray thee send not forth my naked soul From its poor house to seek for Paradise; Though heaven and earth before me God unroll, Back to thy village still my spirit flies. And, Hafiz, at the door of Kismet lies No just complaint—a mind like water clear, A song that swells and dies upon the ear, These are enough for thee!

_Stanza 3._—“Night is with child”—a Persian proverb extraordinarily suggestive of the clear, deep, Eastern sky. The sight seems to slip through between the stars and penetrate a darkness which is big with possibilities.

The same story, says Rosenzweig, is to be found in the Talmud, where the two angels are called Asa and Asail. The Talmud relates that the angels, after their sin, were carried into a great mountain and suspended by chains over an abyss. It was they who taught Solomon wisdom.

Last night when Irem’s magic garden slept, Stirring the hyacinth’s purple tresses curled, The wind of morning through the alleys stept. “Where is thy cup, the mirror of the world? Ah, where is Love, thou Throne of Djem?” I cried. The breezes knew not; but “Alas,” they sighed, “That happiness should sleep so long!” and wept.

Nay, by the hand that sells me wine, I vow No more the brimming cup shall touch my lips, Until my mistress with her radiant brow Adorns my feast—until Love’s secret slips From her, as from the candle’s tongue of flame, Though I, the singèd moth, for very shame, Dare not extol Love’s light without eclipse.

“The bells of alliteration like bangles upon her feet, and on her bosom the necklace of a mysterious rhythm.

Flow, bitter tears, and wash me clean! for they Whose feet are set upon the road that lies ’Twixt Earth and Heaven: “Thou shalt be pure,” they say, “Before unto the pure thou lift thine eyes.” Seeing but himself, the Zealot sees but sin; Grief to the mirror of his soul let in, Oh Lord, and cloud it with the breath of sighs!

_Stanza 6._—It is related that upon a certain occasion when Hafiz was feasting with the Vizir in the latter’s garden, a servant handed to him a goblet of wine, and as he took it he saw in it the reflection of the crescent moon overhead. The incident suggested this verse to him. I should say that the anecdote was of doubtful authenticity.

Sudi says that Hafiz composed this poem in a beautiful garden belonging to Shah Shudja, and called by him the Bagh-i-Irem, after Shedad’s legendary Paradise.

_Stanza 1._—This poem has been expounded to me as a description of the poet’s quest for love. In an allegory he shows how he looked for it in vain from that image of earthly devotion, the nightingale; he warns men that it comes not but by humiliation and sorrow; he questions the magic garden, but its breezes cannot answer him; finally, he concludes that love is not that which lies upon the lips of men, and calls upon the Cup-bearer to silence their idle talk with the wine of divine knowledge.

The Sufis were forced to pay an exaggerated deference to the Prophet and to Ali in order to keep on good terms with the orthodox, but since they believed God to be the source of all creeds they could not reasonably place one above another; nay more, since they taught that any man who practised a particular religion had failed to free himself from duality and to reach perfect union with God, they must have held Mahommadanism in like contempt with all other faiths. “When thou and I remain not (when man is completely united with God), what matters the Ka’ba and the Synagogue and the Monastery?”[10] That is, what difference is there between the religion of Mahommadan, Jew, and Christian? “One night,” says Ferideddin Attar in a beautiful allegory, “the angel Gabriel was seated on the branches of a tree in the Garden of Paradise, and he heard God pronounce a word of assent. ‘At this moment,’ thought the angel, ‘some man is invoking God. I know not who he is; but this I know, that he must be a notable servant of the Lord, one whose soul is dead to evil and whose spirit lives.’ Then Gabriel desired to know who this man could be, but in the seven zones he found him not. He traversed the land and the sea and found him not in mountain or in plain. Therefore he hastened back to the presence of God, and again he heard him give a favourable answer to the same prayers. Again he set forth and sought through the world, yet he saw not the servant of God. ‘Oh Lord,’ he cried, ‘show me the path that leads to him upon whom thy favours fall!’ ‘Go to the Land of Rome,’ God answered, ‘and in a certain monastery thou shalt find him.’ Thither fled Gabriel, and found him whom he sought, and lo! he was worshipping an idol. When he returned, Gabriel opened his lips and said, ‘Oh Master, draw aside for me the veil from this secret: why fulfillest thou the prayers of one who invokes an idol in a monastery?’ And God replied, ‘His spirit is darkened and he knows not that he has missed the way; but since he errs from ignorance, I pardon his fault: my mercy is extended to him, and I allow him to enter into the highest place.’”

_Stanza 3._—That is, do not attempt to light the torches of a Mahommadan monastery from the lamp of a Jewish synagogue. One of the most famous of the Prophet’s sayings is: there is no monasticism in Islam. Nevertheless, from the time of Abu Bekr and Ali onwards, such religious associations grew up and flourished. Nearly all the celebrated doctors of whom the Sufis boast in the first six hundred years after the Hejra belonged to them.

But when the Day of Reckoning is here, I fancy little will be the gain That accrues to the Sheikh for his lawful cheer, Or to me for the draught forbidden I drain. The drunken eyes of my comrades shine, And I too, stretching my hand to the wine, On the neck of drunkenness loosen the rein.

God send to thee great length of happy days! Lo, not for his own life thy servant prays; Love’s dart in thy bent brows the Archer lays, Nor shoots in vain.

“He must hold ever in the hand of his mind the weighing scales of metre, rejecting the verse which is too short and that which is too long.

Upon a branch of the straight cypress-tree Once more the patient nightingale doth rest: “Oh Rose!” he cries, “evil be turned from thee! I sing thee all men’s thanks; thou blossomest And hope springs up in every joyless heart— Let not the nightingale lament apart, Nor with thy proud thorns wound his faithful breast.”

_Stanza 2._—The quarter of Jafrabad has ceased to exist. Its position was to the east of the town, opposite to the fields and to the ruined mosque of Mosalla. Between Jafrabad and Mosalla runs the highroad to Isfahan, traversing, at the distance of a mile from Shiraz, the pass of Allahu Akbar.

When to my grave thou turnest thy blessed feet, Wine and the lute thou shalt bring in thine hand to me, Thy voice shall ring through the folds of my winding-sheet, And I will arise and dance to thy minstrelsy. Though I be old, clasp me one night to thy breast, And I, when the dawn shall come to awaken me, With the flush of youth on my cheek from thy bosom will rise. Rise up! let mine eyes delight in thy stately grace! Thou art the goal to which all men’s endeavour has pressed, And thou the idol of Hafiz’ worship; thy face From the world and life shall bid him come forth and arise!

The wind itself bore joy to Solomon; The Lapwing flew from Sheba’s garden close, Bringing good tidings of its queen and rose. Take thou the cup and go where meadows span The plain, whither the bird with tuneful throat Has brought Spring’s sweeter note.

Unfortunately, as he points out, the conditions of Oriental life are such as to enforce rather than to control a disposition to mysticism. The poets found ready to their hand a mass of vague and beautiful thought eminently suited to imaginative treatment; whether they believed in it or not they used it, and thereby popularised it, delighting, as only an Oriental can, in the necessity of veiling it with exquisite symbolism, and throwing round it a cloud of charming phrases. These phrases caught and held the Oriental ear; and the Oriental mind is faithful to a formula once accepted. Moreover, when a man looked about him and saw the vicissitudes of mortal existence—nowhere more marked than in the East—how conqueror succeeded conqueror and empire empire, how the humble was exalted and the mighty thrown from his seat, how swift was the vengeance of God in sweeping pestilence and resistless famine, and how unsparing the forces of nature, he turned to a philosophy which taught that all earthly things were alike vain—virtue and patriotism and the love of wife and child, power and beauty and the bold part played in a hopeless fight; he remembered what he had learnt from poets and story-tellers—“Behold the world is as the shadow of a cloud and a dream of the night.”

“Où sont de Vienne et de Grenobles Le Dauphin, les preux, les senés? Où de Dijon, Sallin et Dolles, Les sires et les fils aînés? Où autant de leurs gens privés, Hérauts, trompettes, poursuivants? Ont-ils bien bouté sous le nez?... Autant en emporte le vent!”

The hunter she, and I the helpless prey; Wounded and sick, round me her toils she drew, My heart into a sea of sorrow threw, Bound up her camel loads and fled away. Fain had I laid an ambush for her soul, She saw and vanished, and the timid foal, Good Fortune, slipped the rein and would not stay.

Hast thou forgotten when thou laid’st aright The uncut gems of Hafiz’ inmost thought, And side by side thy sweet care strung the bright Array of verse on verse—hast thou forgot?

If with tears, oh Hafiz, thine eyes are wet, Scatter them round thee like grain, and snare The Bird of Joy when it comes to thy net. As the tulip shrinks from the cold night air, So shrank my heart and quailed in the shade; Oh Song-bird Fortune, the toils are laid, When shall thy bright wings lie pinioned there?