Classic Poem

It may be, o heart, that the doors Of the winehouses they shall open,
That they of our straitened case The tangles one day shall open!

If them for the pietist's sake, Self-centred, They've shut, take courage;
Them haply they yet, in ruth On lovers' dismay, shall open.

For th' ease of the winebibbers' hearts, The morning-draught drinkers, o many
A door that is closed the key Of prayer in Love's way shall open!

The writ of the news of the death Of the vine-daughter write, so topers
The sources of blood in their eyes, Grief's tribute to pay, shall open

For the death of sheer wine, cut the tress Of the ghittern! In token of mourning,
The plait of her twy-stranded tress Each cup-bearing may shall open.

The door of the winehouse they've shut The door of the house of dissembling
And fraud, suffer not, Lord, that they, To lead folk astray, shall open!

To morrow, o Hafiz, thou'lt see, From under this patchcoat thou wearest,
What girdles to view They, perforce, On the Reckoning Day, shall open.