Classic Poem

From her stead a waft of fragrance, Eastland breeze, bring thou to me.
Sick am I for grief; a somewhat Of heart's ease bring thou to me.

To our barren heart th'elixir Of desire apply; to wit,
What of dust from the Friend's doorway Thou mayst seize bring thou to me.

In the ambush-place of vision, With my heart at war am I;
Bow (her brows) and shafts (her glances), Prithee, these bring thou to me.

Old in exile, grief and sev'rance Am I grown; the cup of wine,
By the hand of Youth the lusty, Ere life flees, bring thou to me.

Cause the railers of this liquor Beakers two or three to taste
And the cup, except they drain it To the lees, bring thou to me.

Leave not, skinker, till to-morrow This day's pleasance or a writ
Of immunity from Heaven's Chanceries bring thou to me.

Forth the veil last night, for envy, Came my heart, when Hafiz said,
“From her stead a waft of fragrance, Eastland breeze, bring thou to me.”