Poetry means life, good poems ,the greatest poet of Iran, HAFIZ

ghazal 80
O Zahed, pure of nature! censure not the profligates;
For, against thee, they will not record another’s crime.
If I be good, or if I be bad. Go thou: be thyself:
In the end, every one reapeth that work that he sowed.
Every one, whether sensible or insensible, is the seeker of the Beloved:
Every place, whether the Masjed or the church, is the house of love.
My head of submission and the brick of the Tavern-door:
If the complainant understand not this speech, say: Thy head and brick.
Of the former kindness in eternity without beginning, make me not hopeless:
What knowest thou, behind the screen who is good, who is bad?
From the cell of piety, not only I fell out:
My father also let go from his hand Paradise of Eternity without end.
O Hafez! If, on the day of death, thou bring a cup.
Immediately, they will take thee from the street of the tavern to Paradise.
عيب رندان مکن ای زاهد پاکيزه سرشت
که گناه دگران بر تو نخواهند نوشت
من اگر نيکم و گر بد تو برو خود را باش
هر کسی آن درود عاقبت کار که کشت
همه کس طالب يارند چه هشيار و چه مست
همه جا خانه عشق است چه مسجد چه کنشت
سر تسليم من و خشت در ميکدهها
مدعی گر نکند فهم سخن گو سر و خشت
نااميدم مکن از سابقه لطف ازل
تو پس پرده چه دانی که که خوب است و که زشت
نه من از پرده تقوا به درافتادم و بس
پدرم نيز بهشت ابد از دست بهشت
حافظا روز اجل گر به کف آری جامی
يک سر از کوی خرابات برندت به بهشت
GHAZAL 81
At dawn, the bird of the sward spake to the rose:
“Display less disdain; for, in this garden many a one like thee hath blossomed.”
The rose laughed saying: “We grieve not at the truth; but
“No lover spoke a harsh word to the beloved.”
If thou desire ruby wine from that begemmed cup,
O many the pearl that it is necessary for thee to pierce with the point of thy eyelash.
To eternity without end, the perfume of love reacheth not the perfume place of him
Who, with his face, swept not the dust of the door of the tavern.
Last night, in the Paradise, when from the bounty of the air,
The tress of the hyacinth was disturbed by the morning breeze,
I said: “O throne of Jamshid! thy cup world-displaying, where?”
It said: “Alas! wakeful fortune slept.”
Not that which cometh to the tongue is the talk of love:
O Saki! give wine; make short this uttering and hearing.
Into the sea, the tear of Hafez hath cast wisdom and patience:
What shall he do? The consuming of love’s grief, he cannot conceal.
صبحدم مرغ چمن با گل نوخاسته گفت
ناز کم کن که در اين باغ بسی چون تو شکفت
گل بخنديد که از راست نرنجيم ولی
هيچ عاشق سخن سخت به معشوق نگفت
گر طمع داری از آن جام مرصع می لعل
ای بسا در که به نوک مژهات بايد سفت
تا ابد بوی محبت به مشامش نرسد
هر که خاک در ميخانه به رخساره نرفت
در گلستان ارم دوش چو از لطف هوا
زلف سنبل به نسيم سحری میآشفت
گفتم ای مسند جم جام جهان بينت کو
گفت افسوس که آن دولت بيدار بخفت
سخن عشق نه آن است که آيد به زبان
ساقيا می ده و کوتاه کن اين گفت و شنفت
اشک حافظ خرد و صبر به دريا انداخت
چه کند سوز غم عشق نيارست نهفت