Whoso the tale of thy scent, By th' East wind up-brought, heareth,
The sweet, the familiar speech Of Loved Ones in thought heareth.
This were unmeet, indeed, For my faith-fulfilling heart,
If from its bosom friend It words that are naught heareth.
Monarch of beauty, cast An eye on the beggar's case!
Mine ear many tales how kings With beggars have wrought heareth.
Not for the first time to-day We drink to the clang of the harp:
Since ages untold, this sound Yon ceiling star-fraught heareth.
Not for the first time the cup To-day 'neath the patchcoat we drain:
The vintner full often the tale Of the devotees' drought heareth.
Since wayfarers wise unto none God's mysteries utter, from whom
The wineseller these, — with amaze To deem I'm distraught, — heareth!
Cast out from her street if I be, What wonder? Who ever of one,
From Fortune's rosegardens that scent Of lealty caught, heareth?
Lord, where is one worthy of trust, In whom this my heart may confide,
Who what it hath spoken and heard And suffered and sought heareth?
Come, skinker; for Love, with loud voice, Proclaimeth that " Whoso our tale
" Recounteth from none but ourselves The knowledge dear-bought heareth. "
I sweeten, with musk-scented wine, My soul, which hypocrisy's tale
In the scent of the patch-coated folk, From cloister wind-brought, heareth.
The essence of right is the rede Of the sages: o happy the man
With the ear of acceptance who still Their counsel in aught heareth!
The North wind each evening doth tell The story of me and my heart;
The East wind each dawntide what's said 'Twixt me and my thought heareth.
Nay, Hafiz, thine office alone Is the offering of prayers for her weal:
For this be thou nowise concerned If she heareth or nought heareth.
The sweet, the familiar speech Of Loved Ones in thought heareth.
This were unmeet, indeed, For my faith-fulfilling heart,
If from its bosom friend It words that are naught heareth.
Monarch of beauty, cast An eye on the beggar's case!
Mine ear many tales how kings With beggars have wrought heareth.
Not for the first time to-day We drink to the clang of the harp:
Since ages untold, this sound Yon ceiling star-fraught heareth.
Not for the first time the cup To-day 'neath the patchcoat we drain:
The vintner full often the tale Of the devotees' drought heareth.
Since wayfarers wise unto none God's mysteries utter, from whom
The wineseller these, — with amaze To deem I'm distraught, — heareth!
Cast out from her street if I be, What wonder? Who ever of one,
From Fortune's rosegardens that scent Of lealty caught, heareth?
Lord, where is one worthy of trust, In whom this my heart may confide,
Who what it hath spoken and heard And suffered and sought heareth?
Come, skinker; for Love, with loud voice, Proclaimeth that " Whoso our tale
" Recounteth from none but ourselves The knowledge dear-bought heareth. "
I sweeten, with musk-scented wine, My soul, which hypocrisy's tale
In the scent of the patch-coated folk, From cloister wind-brought, heareth.
The essence of right is the rede Of the sages: o happy the man
With the ear of acceptance who still Their counsel in aught heareth!
The North wind each evening doth tell The story of me and my heart;
The East wind each dawntide what's said 'Twixt me and my thought heareth.
Nay, Hafiz, thine office alone Is the offering of prayers for her weal:
For this be thou nowise concerned If she heareth or nought heareth.