Classic Poem

A lover of fair faces And heart-alluring hair,
I'm drunk with wine unmingled And glances debonair.

Sayst thou, " The myst'ry tell me, The Compact of the Prime? "
When I two cups have drunken, I'll tell thee then and there.

From burning and enduring In Love there's no escape;
Me, like the candle standing, Think not with fire to scare.

A man am I of heaven, That, in this exile here
Below, a love-lorn captive Am of the moonfaced fair.

The Houris with their ringlets Shall sweep my couch, if Fate
Vouchsafe me aid, my chattels Towards the Friend to bear.

Shiraz is beauty's quarry And mine of ruby lips;
But here, poor bankrupt pedlar, I languish in despair.

For all that in this city Of languor-drunken eyes
I see, though wine I drink not, I fuddled am, I swear.

The town of lovelings' glances Is full on all six sides:
I've nothing; else a buyer Of all the six I were.

The bride of Hafiz' genius Would fain herself display;
But I've (alack!) no mirror Wherewith to make her yare.

Hafiz for heat consumeth Of barren thought-taking:
Where is the skinker, water To cast upon the flare?