Classic Poem

If but once her face shows from forth her veil,
Lost will be for ever all claim of radiance to the Sun.
The Tulips will borrow colours from her face,
Shamed will be the Hyacinth at the sight of her tresses.
Why do people lay charges against Fortune?
It is she that with her eyes the world hath desolated,
Is it with the effects of wine that her eyes are thus flushed,
Or has some one out of sleep awoke her too early?
The blood of hearts she quaffs in place of wine,
Again for relish with it she takes broken hearts.
The special fate of those slaughtered by my fair one
Is that without question straight to Paradise they go.
My heart is as a compass, fixed its bearing,
It points ever to the Altar of thy eyebrows.
Be not gladdened with her promises, Khush-hal:
From the bubble what constancy does one expect?