Spring and all its flowers
Â Â Â Â Â now joyously break their vow of silence.
It is time for celebration, not for lying low;
You too — weed out those roots of sadness from your heart.
The Sabaa wind arrives;
Â Â Â Â Â and in deep resonance, the flower
Â Â Â Â Â passionately rips open its garments,
Â Â Â Â Â thrusting itself from itself.
The Way of Truth, learn from the clarity of water,
Learn freedom from the spreading grass.
Pay close attention to the artistry of the Sabaa wind,
that wafts in pollen from afar,
And ripples the beautiful tresses
Â Â Â Â Â of the fields of hyacinth flowers.
From the privacy of the harem, the virgin bud slips out,
Â Â Â Â Â revealing herself under the morning star,
branding your heart and your faith
Â Â Â Â Â with beauty.
And frenzied bulbul flies madly out of the House of Sadness
Â Â Â Â Â to unite with the flowers;
its love-crazed cry like a thousand-trumpet blast.
Hafez says, and the experienced old ones concur:
All you really need
Â Â Â Â Â is to tell those Stories
Â Â Â Â Â of the Fair Ones and the Goblet of Wine.