Ode 487 BY HAFEZ TRANSLATED BY RICHARD LE GALLIENNE With last night’s wine still singing in my head, I sought the tavern at the break of day, Though half the world was still asleep in bed; The harp and flute were up and in full swing, And a most pleasant morning sound made they; Already was the wine-cup on the wing. ‘Reason,’ said I, ‘’t is past the time to start, If you would reach your daily destination, The holy city of intoxication.’ So did I pack him off, and he depart With a stout flask for fellow-traveller. Left to myself, the tavern-wench I spied, And sought to win her love by speaking fair; Alas! she turned upon me, scornful-eyed, And mocked my foolish hopes of winning her. Said she, her arching eyebrows like a bow: ‘Thou mark for all the shafts of evil tongues! Thou shalt not round my middle clasp me so, Like my good girdle – not for all thy songs! – So long as thou in all created things Seest but thyself the centre and the end. Go spread thy dainty nets for other wings – Too high the Anca’s nest for thee, my friend.’ Then took I shelter from that stormy sea In the good ark of wine; yet, woe is me! Saki and comrade and minstrel all by turns, She is of maidens the compendium Who my poor heart in such a fashion spurns. Self, HAFIZ, self! That thou must overcome! Hearken the wisdom of the tavern-daughter! Vain little baggage – well, upon my word! Thou fairy figment made of clay and water, As busy with thy beauty as a bird. Well, HAFIZ, Life’s a riddle – give it up: There is no answer to it but this cup.
Posted on: Sat, 24 May 2014 14:24:50 +0000
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