With a flagon in hand, singing a song and laughing, wine inside;
Sweating all over, hair everywhere, garment torn down the side,
The eye looking for battle, and mocking lips mouthing "O no,"
Last night at midnight You came to my pillow, sat by my side.

To my ear You bent Your head and said in a sad soft whisper:
"My poor mad lover are you awake, or do you sleep?" You sighed.
If a wise man is given late at night such a drink, this is the Fate;
Unfaithful to Love he would be if he praised wine, then denied.

Go away preacher, stop ranting about us drinking leftover dregs;
Only this way was given us, morning before Creation's clay was fired.
Whatever You have poured into your cup, we've swallowed it all;
Either the wine of drunkards or the elixir of Paradise, we tried.

The laughter of wine in the cup and long curling hair of the Beloved:
How many vows of repentance, like Hâfiz's have they untied?

(Smith transl. 1986, poem 44)

With a flagon in his hand (another version)

His mop of hair tangled, sweating, laughing and drunk,
Shirt torn open, singing poems, flask in hand,
His eyes spoiling for trouble, his lips mouthing "Alas!"
So last night at midnight he came and sat at 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 cup's smile and the wine boy's knotted curl
Have broken many vows of chastity, like that of Hafiz.

(Ghazl No. 10 from the Divan of Hafiz)

To a beautiful youth on pilgrimage to Mecca

You who have left to visit the ancient House,
And abandoned me here, hostage to sadness;
One last visit before departing,
Would not that have been better?

You go on pilgrimage to follow the precepts,
But that doesn't at all keep you
From putting a Moslem to death!
May I be your ransom! Rather than wander
The roads of the pilgrim,
Better you should spare Allah's creatures.

From: Muhammad al-Nawaji - The Meadow of the Gazelles

For a beautiful black boy

Aroused, he exhales
The intense perfume of his musk.
The sight of his face, lit by a ray of light
Imprints itself.

So arresting is his beauty,
So limitless its power,
That the gaze of those parched for love
Envelops him in tenderness,

And the caress of all those black eyes
Has daubed his body
With their magic color.

From: Muhammad al-Nawaji - The Meadow of the Gazelles

For those whose lover has dark skin

If the stars glitter white
In the dusk of night
Against the black body of a sky
Whose robe has slipped aside,

Their opposite is even more beautiful;
For here on earth are other orbs:
You, black men,
Shining stars of our days.

From: Muhammad al-Nawaji - The Meadow of the Gazelles

For those whose who favor light-skinned boys

Those who dare set
The swarthy man before white boys,
Marvels of grace, prove to me
They are weak and ill of eye.

What use is sight
To our brothers's eyes
If to them light and dark
Are one and the same?

From: Muhammad al-Nawaji - The Meadow of the Gazelles

For a Turk boy

I have chosen from among the sons of the Turks
A young male gazelle.
In my burning desire to possess him
I have consumed my life to no purpose.

I asked him one day
"What will put out the fire
That you have lit in me,
O, most fearsome of men?"
He answered, "My lips."

From: Muhammad al-Nawaji - The Meadow of the Gazelles

To a handsome boy with ink-stained lips

Before this mouth smeared with ink,
A precious box filled
With adorable pearls, I cry out,

"What is this strange sign?
A talisman to avert the evil eye
From him we cherish . . .
Or a seal for the mouth of the jar
Enclosing the wine of pleasure?"

From: Muhammad al-Nawaji - The Meadow of the Gazelles

For a milkman

Ever since I bound myself
In passion
To a milkman,
The very picture of seduction,
I tell him over and over,

"Be generous and grant me
A swallow of you,
O delectable milkman."

From: Muhammad al-Nawaji - The Meadow of the Gazelles

For a maker of arrows

Friend, our fletcher,
With the arrow of his glance,
Intentionally wounded onto death
This heart of mine, which went out to him.

Why does the censor blame me
When my soul, pierced by love
Is target for this whittler of arrows?

From: Muhammad al-Nawaji - The Meadow of the Gazelles

For a pretty seller of cucumbers

God! How beautiful, this young
Cucumber seller, and a face to make
The sun itself blush at noontime.

The day he agreed to a tender meeting
I was overwhelmed.
Ah, how I savored
That mouthful of cucumber.

From: Muhammad al-Nawaji - The Meadow of the Gazelles

The Woman I Love (adressed to a boy)

Because the Woman I Love
Lives inside of you,

I lean as close to your body with my words As I can -

And I think of you all the time, dear pilgrim.

Because the One I love goes with you
Wherever you go,
Hafiz will always be near.

If you sat near me, wayfarer,
With your aura bright from your many
Charms,

My lips could resist rushing to you and needing
To befriend your blushed cheek,

But my eyes can no longer hide
The wondrous fact of who
You Really are.

The Beautiful One whom I adore
Has pitched His royal tent inside of you,

So I will always lean my heart
As close to your soul
As I can.

Go to Hâfiz' page.