Though wine be pleasing and the breeze
be rife with roses, we must cease
Drinking to harp-music, for here
come the morality police.
If you've found wine and a fine friend
to drink with, drink, but be discreet.
The times we're living in are dire
days of oppression and caprice.
Gather no more in public. Hide
the wineglass up your ragged sleeve.
Just as your jug, this age itself
sheds crimson tears at all it sees.
With salt tears, wash the sweet red stain
of wine out of your dervish cloak,
For 'tis the season to be sober,
time to abstain and bend your knees.
Oh, turn not to the gyring heavens
for any kindness or relief.
The curving brim of that cruel bowl
is dirtied with the wretched lees.
The heavens have become a sieve
spattering blood on mortal heads
From the slit throats of Persian kings,
from the felled crown of great Parviz.
You've held Iraq and Fars in sway
with strains of your sweet verse, Hafiz!
So come. It's time to go and sing for
the courts of Baghdad and Tabriz.