Oh Pious Zealot, why, prithee,

Oh Pious Zealot, why, prithee,
Dost pray and point to Paradise!
It was for this world God made me,
And shut the other from my eyes!

Who never for God soweth seed,
However years may wax and wane,
No flower may gather from the mead,
And from the fertile field no grain.

Devout am I across the wine,
Christian and Mussulman can praise--
Faith’s giant bulwark is thy fine
Conceited boast in canting phrase.

God blew in earth dust making me,
Such lusty life, such joy of days,
That all thy threats can not, Sufi,
Keep me from nature’s chosen ways.

Nor Sufi will in Heaven shine
Who never has his cowl like me,
Pledged at The Tavern door for wine,
The better Faith’s pathway to see.

The Houris love not any man
Who Beauty’s veil dares not to raise,
And without love pray tell me can
The Heaven equal earthly ways?

Oh Hafiz! great is God’s good grace,
Of nothing cherish fear therefore,
Lift henceforth to his holy place
Thy hopes of happiness the more.