Ghazal 390

Officers of King of the flowers the grass adorn
The meadows welcome O God, the newly born.

What a pleasant gathering was this royal feast
Each one is seated upon his own throne.

Let your Seal, seal the fate of the Royal Seal
With your name, Satan's hands are cut and torn.

This house is eternally the gateway through which
The winds of compassion are fragrantly blown.

Glory of the Mighty King, his mythic sword
Book of Kings, and its readers have all sworn.

Tamed the stallion of fate, put under saddle
Mighty Rider played polo, the ball is thrown.

In this land flowing waters became your sword
Planted seeds of Justice, and evil intent forlorn.

No wonder, with your goodness, if from now on
From deserts, upon the breeze musk is flown.

Hermits patiently await your good vision
Raise your hat, throw aside the mask you've worn.

Sought counsel of my mind, said, Hafiz, drink!
Listen to my trusted friend, pour me wine until the morn.

Gentle breeze bestow this feast with plentiful horn
The bearer, with a cup or two, those like me may scorn.