Ode 483

DAWN, like a lover, the black robe of night

Rends, and the naked shining of the sky

Gleams here and there in gashes of torn light:

How often I

Have rent my tattered robe from left to right!

Sweet blows the morning breeze—it blows from thee,

Sleeping at dawn with little fluttering sighs;

Thou happy bird, O sing the way for me

To where she lies—

For tears I can no more the pathway see.

So thin grow I with longing, and this ache

That in the grave will now be ended soon,

The folk at evening my pale body take

For the new moon—

Being like a thread of silver for thy sake.

When in this world my face no more is seen,

Faded with too much loving of thy face,

Look not upon my grave for grasses green,

But in their place

The blood-red rose will tell what I have been.

Shame on me that I still can breathe and live,

Unloved by thee—O foolish heart, be still!

Beloved, wilt thou this affront forgive?

Soon HAFIZ will

Those rebel pulses their quietus give.