Ode 537

THE mercy of God, so long as there is day

To follow night, till the last morning break;

The mercy of God, so long as the sweet strings

One with another a sweet union make;

On Arak* and the little house I pray

That on the corner of the hill-side stands,

Above the winding stream that scarcely sings

For the deep sands.

I am the man who prays for whoso fares

Lonely about the world; the folk that go,

Lost for a friend's hand or a woman's breast,

On aching journeys; and for all who know

No lights at evening, put I up my prayers.

Ah! but there is one lovely traveller

For whom I pray more than for all the rest—

O harm not her!

Longing for news of her, I am as dead:

O messenger, thou art a weary while!

My love! my love! in every place thou art

My home, my peace; my life is in thy smile,

As the mote's life in the sun, and comforted

Is all my changing state remembering thee;

Still at the judgment this old flaming heart

Thy heart shall be.

How dare I set my hopes on such a queen,

Being what I am! HAFIZ, hast lost thy wit?

Rakehell and profligate, resounding word

For evil living, yea! and proud of it;

Incarnate infamy and name obscene:

Ah! set thy soaring love on yonder star,

Thou sin that singest like some holy bird—

'T is not so far.