Ode 315

IN the rose-garden of the World, one rose
For me 's enough;
Many a fairer in that garden grows—
Mine 's fair enough;
Out in the meadow all the shade I ask
Falls from the cypress that I call my own;
O canting Sufi, take us not to task—
Leave us alone;
Weighty thy matter, but we find the stuff,
Most learned doctor, in this portly flask
Heavy enough.

After a well-spent life comes Paradise,
With palaces fair painted on the skies;
We topers know a better heaven than this:
The tavern, to our wayward thinking, is
Heaven enough.

Upon the margin of the stream we sit
And watch the world with a contented eye;
The stream glides onward and ever, and so it
As surely passes by.

Brief joy, long pain, is all the world can give;
Pore on the stream and learn this lesson rough:
If you the gain, we find the loss, to live
More than enough.

To sit with the Beloved, who could more
Ask of a world so very sad as this—
Yea, even could a happier world give more?
Ah, drive me not, Beloved, from thy door
With harsh rebuff;
For knowest thou not thy doorstep is my home?
Nor send me to some distant realm of bliss—
No knowledge crave I of the world to come,
For never I of this old world that is
Can have enough.

Union with thee! I have no other thought;
In heaven's market I 've no wish to buy:
Here I can see and handle what I 've bought—
Not so the rainbow wares of yonder sky.

It ill becomes thee, HAFIZ, to take huff
At fortune, and her fickleness proclaim;
Consider only thy resounding fame,
Thy nature fresh and simple as a spring,
And is not, HAFIZ, thy strange power to sing
Fortune enough?