One of Hafez’s most musical and delightful ghazals:

Translation:

Thank God the tavern door is finally open

for I’ve pressed my face to its door in need

The wine vats are gushing and roaring drunk

And that wine here is real and not metaphorical

He is all drunkenness, pride, and arrogance

we are all desperation, weakness, and need

The secret I never told the stranger and never will

I’ll tell the friend, for he is secrets’ intimate

The description of the wavy curls of his locks

cannot be made short, for it is a long story

It is the burden of Majnun’s heart and Layla’s curved tress

It is Mahmud’s face and the sole of Ayaz’s foot

Like the hawk, I’ve closed my eyes to the whole world

since I opened them to your beautiful face

Whoever enters the Ka’aba of your street

stands in prayer before the qibla of your eyebrow

O people of the assembly, about the agony of poor Hafez’s heart

ask the candle which is burning and melting…

(modified from Reza Saberi’s translation in The Divan of Hafez, p. 51)

Original:

المنة لله که در میکده باز است

زان رو که مرا بر در او روی نیاز است

خم‌ها همه در جوش و خروشند ز مستی

وان می که در آن جاست حقیقت نه مجاز است

از وی همه مستی و غرور است و تکبر

وز ما همه بیچارگی و عجز و نیاز است

رازی که بر غیر نگفتیم و نگوییم

با دوست بگوییم که او محرم راز است

شرح شکن زلف خم اندر خم جانان

کوته نتوان کرد که این قصه دراز است

بار دل مجنون و خم طره لیلی

رخساره محمود و کف پای ایاز است

بردوخته‌ام دیده چو باز از همه عالم

تا دیده من بر رخ زیبای تو باز است

در کعبه کوی تو هر آن کس که بیاید

از قبله ابروی تو در عین نماز است

ای مجلسیان سوز دل حافظ مسکین

از شمع بپرسید که در سوز و گداز است

Hafez’s tomb was first constructed in 1452, around sixty years after his death by the Timurid governor of Shiraz, and has been renovated and expanded many times since, often in response to divination performed with his Divan. The tomb is adorned with calligraphic renditions of these ghazals of his, which happen to be among my very favorite:

Translation:

Tell me of your arrival, from this life to you I’ll rise!

I am heaven’s bird and from this world’s snare I will rise

For your friendship, if you should want me as a slave

from the rulership of the whole cosmos I will rise

O Lord, may your cloud of guidance rain down upon me

before, as scattered dust, into the air, I rise

Beside my dust, with wine and song, come and take a seat

drawn by your scent, dancing from my tomb, I will arise

Rise up, o sweet idol, and show your stature’s grace

and from this soul and world, with clapping hands I will rise

though I am old, hold me close all night long in your embrace

then in the morning, young and fresh, from your side I will rise

The day I die, with my last breath, let me see your face

So that like Hafez, from this world and place, I will arise

Original:

مژده وصل تو کو کز سر جان برخیزم

طایر قدسم و از دام جهان برخیزم

به ولای تو که گر بنده خویشم خوانی

از سر خواجگی کون و مکان برخیزم

یا رب از ابر هدایت برسان بارانی

پیشتر زان که چو گردی ز میان برخیزم

بر سر تربت من با می و مطرب بنشین

تا به بویت ز لحد رقص کنان برخیزم

خیز و بالا بنما ای بت شیرین حرکات

کز سر جان و جهان دست فشان برخیزم

گر چه پیرم تو شبی تنگ در آغوشم کش

تا سحرگه ز کنار تو جوان برخیزم

روز مرگم نفسی مهلت دیدار بده

تا چو حافظ ز سر جان و جهان برخیزم

This poem was most likely written as a tribute to Hafez by a later Shi’ite author, but it still adorns his tomb (thanks to N.A. for help with the translation):

Translation:

O heart be the servant of the King of the world and be a king yourself

and always remain under the protection of divine grace

From a foreigner, they won’t buy a thousand for a penny

Let from peak to peak be full of the army of hypocrisy

when Ahmad is my intercessor on the day of resurrection

Say to this blasted body of mine, “be sinful”

The one who is not a friend of ‘Ali is veiled

whether he is the ascetic of his time or a Master of the way

O Ali, I am alive today with your friendship/sanctity

tomorrow I will be a witness to the pure spirit of the Imams

The grave of the eighth Imam, the Sultan of religion, Riḍa,

Kiss it from your soul and be a companion of that court

If your hand cannot reach a flower from that branch

be a plant at the foot of their flower-stem

The man of God who seeks piety

it does’t matter whether his cloak is white or black

Hafez, take the path of servanthood to the king

and then be like the men of the way on the path

Original:

ای دل غلام شاه جهان باش و شاه باش

 پـیـوسـتـه در حـمـایـت لطـف اله باش

از خارجـی هزار به یک جو نمی خرند

 گو، کوه تا به کـوه منـافق سپـاه بـاش

چون احمدم شـفـیع بود روز رسـتخیز

 گو این تن بـلاکش مـن پـرگنـاه بـاش*

آن را که دوستی علی نیست کافر است

 گـو زاهـد زمانـه و گو شـیخ راه بـاش**

امـروز زنـده ام بـه ولای تـو یا عـلی

 فـردا به روح پـاک امامان گـواه بـاش

قبر امام هشـتم و سـلطان دیـن رضـا

 از جان ببوس و بر در آن بارگاه باش

دستت نمی رسد که بچینی گلی زشاخ

بـاری به پـای گلبن ایشـان گیاه بـاش

مرد خـدا شـنـاس که تـقـوی طلب کند

 خواهی سپید جامه و خواهی سیاه باش

حـافظ طریـق بـنـدگی شـاه پـیـشـه کن

وانگاه در طریق چـو مـردان راه بـاش

Translation:

The garden of eternity is in the retreat of the dervishes

the very essence of grandeur is the service of the dervishes

The treasury of glory that is sealed by the talisman of wonders

opens at the merciful glance of the dervishes

The castle of paradise for which Rezwan is the doorkeeper

is but a view from the lawn of the dervishes

That which by its radiance turns black hearts to gold

is the alchemy that is the company of the dervishes

That before which the sun lays down its crown of glory

is the greatness that comes from the grandeur of the dervishes

The power/state (dawlat) whose decline need never be feared

without exaggeration, is the power/state of the dervishes

The kings are the qiblah to which we direct our needs

and this is because they are the slaves of the dervishes

That which kings seek to achieve in their prayers

is manifested in the mirror of the countenance of the dervishes

From shore to shore is the army of tyranny,

but from beginningless eternity to eternity without end is the time of the dervishes

O rich man, don’t sell us so much vanity

for your health and wealth are in the hands of the will (himmat) of the dervishes

Korah’s treasure, which still is still sinking from heaven’s severity

is an effect of the wrath of the dervishes

Hafez, if you’re seeking the eternal water of life

its spring is the dust of the retreat of the dervishes

I am the slave of the Asaf of my time

because he has the looks of a nobleman and the character of the dervishes.

Original:

Translation:

The dust of my body is the veil of the face of the beloved of my soul

happy is the moment when from off this face, I cast the veil

Even so, this cage is no good for a sweet singer such as me

I will go to the rose garden of paradise, for I am a bird of that field

It is not clear why I came where I went

my regret and pain is that I have been heedless of my own affair

Oh how I circumambulate in the space of the holy world

but in this flat, compounded abode, I am bound to my body

If the scent of musk issues from my heart’s blood

do not wonder, my friend, for I am the musk gland of Khotan

Do not look at the golden embroidery of my cloak like a candle

for there is burning hidden within this cloak

Come and take Hafez’s existence from him

so that by your being, none will hear from me that I am

Original:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BLBs-iUKGxQ