LXXI
When now the rose upon the meadow from Nothing into Being springs,
When at her feet the humble violet with her head low in worship clings,
Take from thy morn-filled cup refreshment while tabors and the harp
inspire,
Nor fail to kiss the chin of Sákí while the flute warbles and the lyre.
Sit thou with wine, with harp, with charmer, until the rose's bloom be
past;
For as the days of life which passes, is the brief week that she shall
last.
The face of earth, from herbal mansions, is lustrous as the sky; and
shines
With asterisms of happy promise, with stars that are propitious signs.
In gardens let Zoroaster's worship again with all its rites revive,
While now within the tulip's blossoms the fires of Nimrod[41] are alive.
Drink wine, presented by some beauty of Christ-like breath, of cheek
fair-hued;
And banish from thy mind traditions to Ád relating, and Thamúd.[42]
Earth rivals the Immortal Garden during the rose and lily's reign;
But what avails when the immortal is sought for on this earth in vain?
When riding on the windy courser, as Solomon, the rose is found,
And when the Bird, at hour of morning, makes David's melodies resound,
Ask thou, in Solomon's dominion, a goblet to the brim renewed;
Pledge the Vizir, the cycle's Ásaf, the column of the Faith, Mahmud.
O Háfiz, while his days continue, let joy eternal be thine aim;
And may the shadow of his kindness eternally abide the same!
Bring wine; for Háfiz, if in trouble,
Will ceaselessly the help implore
Of him who bounty shall aid ever,
As it have aid vouchsafed before.