Ghazl No. 10 from the Divan of Hafiz
His mop of hair tangled, sweating,
laughing and drunk,
Shirt torn, singing poems, flask in hand,
His eyes spoiling for a fight, his lips mouthing Alas!
Last night at midnight he came and sat by my pillow.
He bent his head to my ear and said, sadly,
O, my ancient lover, are you sleeping?
The seeker to whom they give such a cup at dawn
Is an infidel to love if he will not worship the wine.
O hermit, go and do not quibble with those who drink the dregs,
For on the eve of creation this was all they gave to us.
What he poured in our cup we drank,
Whether the mead of Heaven, or the wine of drunkenness.
The cups smile and the wine boys knotted curl
Have broken many vows of chastity, like that of Hafiz.