Boy, bring the cup, and circulate the wine:
How easy at first love seemed, but now the snags begin.
How many hearts lie bleeding, waiting for the wind-loosed musk
Out of those tresses—the bright twist of black curls?
For what security have we here in this halting-place,
Where every moment the bell clangs "Strap up your packs"?
Stain your prayer-mat with wine if the Master tells you:
That seasoned voyager knows the ways of the road.
But travelling light, what can these land-lubbers know of it—
Black night, our fear of the waves, and the horrible whirlpool?
My self-willed love will sink my reputation:
The truth leaks out; they make a ballad of it at their meetings.
If you seek his presence, Hafiz, do not let him alone:
And when you meet his face, you can tell the world to go hang.
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