Bitter Dolor By Shams al-Din Hafiz Shiraz
In its beak, a nightingale had a roseleaf of exquisite color
And on that pleasant food, it nourished on some bitter dolor
I asked, ‘Wherefore lament and cry despite this union fair? ‘
He said, ‘In this, the beauty of the Beloved do I share.’
If the true Beloved sat not with us, there is no room for grievance
A prosperous King was He; and the beggars He held in abhorrence.
Our pleas and cries affect not the Friend endowed with beauty rare
Happy he who for the beloved and the fortune of prosperity doth care.
Arise! So that to the reed of the painter, we may give away our all
This wonderful picture, in the revolution of the compass, doth fall
If thou seek the path of love, think not of ill reputation
San’an his religious garment pawned at the tavern sans disputation.
Happy the time of that gentle kalander who on the path
The rosary of the King, in the (zunnar) 172 Christian girdle hath.
Behold in HAFIZ’s eyes which wait
His huri’s palace-roof below,
A figure of the ‘garden-grove,
‘The streams of which beneath it flow.’
(Translated by Ismail Salami)