Hafez of Shiraz (c. 1315–1390) is one of the greatest and most beloved poets of Persian literature, best known for his ghazals—lyrical poems rich in love, mysticism, and spiritual symbolism. His poetry stands at the meeting point of romantic desire and divine longing, where earthly love often becomes a metaphor for the soul’s search for truth.
Hafez’s poems are famous for their ambiguity and layered meanings. A single verse may speak at once of wine, a beloved, and God. Wine in Hafez is rarely just wine; it symbolizes ecstasy, freedom, and spiritual awakening, while the tavern represents a place beyond rigid religious rules. Through this imagery, Hafez gently criticizes hypocrisy and celebrates inner sincerity.
Musicality is another defining feature of Hafez’s poetry. His language flows with rhythm, metaphor, and emotional intensity, making his poems deeply memorable and frequently quoted. In Iran and across the Persian-speaking world, his Divan is not only read but also used for bibliomancy (fal-e Hafez)—seeking guidance by opening the book at random.
 |
| Hafez |
Beyond Persian culture, Hafez has influenced poets such as Goethe, who admired his spiritual freedom and lyrical brilliance. Even today, Hafez’s poems feel timeless, speaking to readers about love, loss, joy, and the eternal human longing for meaning.
Who Has Bid Thee Ask No More
Hafez
English translation by Gertrude Lowthian Bell
Beloved, who has bid thee ask no more
How fares my life ? to play the enemy
And ask not where he dwells that was thy friend ?
Thou art the breath of mercy passing o*er
The whole wide world, and the offender I ;
Ah, let the rift my tears have channelled end,
Question the past no more !
If thou would ‘st know the secret of Love’s fire.
It shall be manifest unto thine eyes :
Question the torch flame burning steadfastly,
But ask no more the sweet wind’s wayward choir.
Ask me of faith and love that never dies ;
Darius, Alexander’s sovereignty,
I sing of these no more.
Ask not the monk to give thee Truth’s pure gold.
He hides no riches ’neath his lying guise ;
And ask not him to teach thee alchemy
Whose treasure-house is bare, his hearth-stone cold.
Ask to what goal the wandering dervish hies,
They knew not his desire who counselled thee ;
Question his rags no more !
And in their learned books thou ’lt seek in vain
The key to Love’s locked gateway ; Heart grown wise
In pain and sorrow, ask no remedy !
But when the time of roses comes again,
Take what it gives, oh Hafiz, ere it flies,
And ask not why the hour has brought it thee,
And wherefore ask no more !
Arise, oh Cup-bearer
Hafez
English translation by Gertrude Lowthian Bell
Arise, oh Cup-bearer, rise! and bring
To lips that are thirsting the bowl they praise,
For it seemed that love was an easy thing,
But my feet have fallen on difficult ways.
I have prayed the wind o’er my heart to fling
The fragrance of musk in her hair that sleeps —
In the night of her hair — yet no fragrance stays
The tears of my heart’s blood my sad heart weeps.
Hear the Tavern-keeper who counsels you :
With wine, with red wine your prayer carpet dye I
There was never a traveller like him but knew
The ways of the road and the hostelry.
Where shall I rest, when the still night through.
Beyond thy gateway, oh Heart of my heart,
The bells of the camels lament and cry :
“ Bind up thy burden again and depart! ”
The waves run high, night is clouded with fears,
And eddying whirlpools clash and roar ;
How shall my drowning voice strike their ears
Whose light-freighted vessels have reached the shore ?
I sought mine own ; the unsparing years
Have brought me mine own, a dishonoured name.
What cloak shall cover my misery o’er
When each jesting mouth has rehearsed my shame!
Oh Hafiz, seeking an end to strife,
Hold fast in thy mind what the wise have writ :
“ If at last thou attain the desire of thy life,
Cast the world aside, yea, abandon it !”
Ghazal 01
O beautiful wine-bearer, bring forth the cup and put it to my lips
Path of love seemed easy at first, what came was many hardships.
With its perfume, the morning breeze unlocks those beautiful locks
The curl of those dark ringlets, many hearts to shreds strips.
In the house of my Beloved, how can I enjoy the feast
Since the church bells call the call that for pilgrimage equips.
With wine color your robe, one of the old Magi’s best tips
Trust in this traveler’s tips, who knows of many paths and trips.
The dark midnight, fearful waves, and the tempestuous whirlpool
How can he know of our state, while ports house his unladen ships.
I followed my own path of love, and now I am in bad repute
How can a secret remain veiled, if from every tongue it drips?
If His presence you seek, Hafiz, then why yourself eclipse?
Stick to the One you know, let go of imaginary trips.
© Shahriar Shahriari
Los Angeles, Ca
April 9, 1999
Ode 44
By Hafez
Last night, as half asleep I dreaming lay,
Half naked came she in her little shift,
With tilted glass, and verses on her lips;
Narcissus-eyes all shining for the fray,
Filled full of frolic to her wine-red lips,
Warm as a dewy rose, sudden she slips
Into my bed – just in her little shift.
Said she, half naked, half asleep, half heard,
With a soft sigh betwixt each lazy word,
‘Oh my old lover, do you sleep or wake!’
And instant I sat upright for her sake,
And drank whatever wine she poured for me –
Wine of the tavern, or vintage it might be
Of Heaven’s own vine: he surely were a churl
Who refused wine poured out by such a girl,
A double traitor he to wine and love.
Go to, thou puritan! the gods above
Ordained this wine for us, but not for thee;
Drunkards we are by a divine decree,
Yea, by the special privilege of heaven
Foredoomed to drink and foreordained forgiven.
Ah! HAFIZ, you are not the only man
Who promised penitence and broke down after;
For who can keep so hard a promise, man,
With wine and woman brimming o’er with laughter!
O knotted locks, filled like a flower with scent,
How have you ravished this poor penitent!
Ode 487
By Hafez
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.
