Classic Poem

What is it that this drunkenness On me of mine hath brought?
Who was the skinker and whence is't That he this wine hath brought?

What mode was it the minstrel, skilled In music, played, wherein
He to mine ear, midmost the song, That voice of thine hath brought?

The Hoopoe of King Solomon For us the East wind is,
That news from Sheba's rosegardens, To us that pine, hath brought.

Take thou the winecup in thy hand And seek the open fields;
For the sweet bird its dulcet pipe, At Summer's sign, hath brought.

Welcome the coming of the rose And jasmine! Come's the glad
Sweet violet; and happy cheer The eglantine hath brought.

Heart, like the rosebud, moan thou not Of straitened case; for, see,
Its heart-dilating airs the breeze Of morn benign hath brought.

The skinker's glance the remedy Is of our heart's unease:
Lift up thy head; the leach is come And medicine hath brought.

The Magian Elder's slave am I: Rail not at me, o Sheikh;
For that, which thou didst promise, he To pass, in fine, hath brought.

The sacrifice, indeed, am I Of that rapacity,
Which to lay hands on abject me Yon Turk of mine hath brought.

The heav'ns obedient service do To Hafiz, now that Fate
Him to the shelter of thy door, That Fortune's shrine, hath brought.