Classic Poem

Glad that day will be when, parting, From this waste abode go I,
Heart's ease seeking, in the pathway That my love hath trode, go I.

Though I know the stranger findeth Not, without a guide, the way,
By the scents her tangled tresses On the breeze have sowed go I.

Spite sick heart and strengthless body, Like the East wind, swift and straight,
With the longing for that waving Cypress for a goad, go I.

Passing weary of the prison Of Sikender is my heart;
Unto Solomon his kingdom, Binding on my load, go I.

Since the light ones here reck nothing Of the heavy-laden's case,
Help, ye pious! so that thither, Eath and unforslowed, go I.

On the head though it behove me In the path to fare, with eye
Tear-o'erfilled and heart sore wounded, On the reed-pen's mode go I.

This I've vowed that, from this sorrow If one day I do me free,
To the winehouse door, rejoicing, Chanting song and ode, go I;

Yea, for love of her, sun-mote like Dancing, to the fountain-head,
Whence the river of the radiance Of the sun hath flowed, go I.

But if, Hafiz-like, I win not Forth this desert, with the star
Of the Asef of the epoch, Waymate in the road go I.