Garden of Remembrance

Bertrand Russell

Placido Domingo, the King of Opera


  Atelier | Anything Goes | Host | Letters | Links | Varietee |  WhoseWho | Women



























Hafez Shirazi

sent by: Farhad Mafie

From Canaan Joseph shall return, whose face
A little time was hidden: weep no more
Oh, weep no more! in sorrow's dwelling-place
The roses yet shall spring from the bare floor!
And heart bowed down beneath a secret pain
Oh stricken heart! joy shall return again,
Peace to the love-tossed brain oh, weep no more!

Oh, weep no more! for once again Life's Spring
Shall throne her to the meadows green, and o'er
Her head the minstrel of the night shall fling
A canopy of rose leaves, score on score.
The secret of the world thou shalt not learn,
And yet behind the veil Love's fire may burn -
Weep'st thou? let hope return and weep no more!

Today may pass, tomorrow pass, before
The turning wheel give me my heart's desire;
Heaven's self shall change, and turn not evermore
The universal wheel of Fate in ire.
Oh Pilgrim nearing Mecca's holy fane,
The thorny maghilan wounds thee in vain,
The desert blooms again - oh, weep no more!

What though the river of mortality
Round the unstable house of Life doth roar,
Weep not, oh heart, Noah shall pilot thee,
And guide thine ark to the desired shore!
The goal lies far, and perilous is thy road,
Yet every path leads to that same abode
Where thou shalt drop thy load - oh, weep no more!

Mine enemies have persecuted me,
My love has turned and fled from out my door -
God counts our tears and knows our misery;
Ah, weep not! He has heard thy weeping sore.
And chained in poverty and plunged in night,
Oh Hafiz, take thy Koran and recite
Litanies infinite, and weep no more!


Nader Naderpour
Translated by: Farhad Mafie

You, O, far summit

In the beginning of the upcoming spring, 
will the loneliest voice in the world 
be allowed to echo in your quietness?

Will my lost voice, panting,
be able to find a path to your height?

Will your cold mouth, by my warm tune,
be able to erupt again?

Ah, O, the tranquil and the virtuous
O, the dour wintry face
O, the angry lion

Will I, from the small door of this strange exile, 
again see the rising of the sun
from your summit peak? 

Will I be able to see you again?