Classic Poem

The curve, thy roguish brows, bow-wise, On Thy fore-head did cast,
They in that shape, my hapless blood That they might shed, did cast.

When, warm with wine and all a-sweat, Thou wentest in the meads,
Thy face's lustre fire into The Ergh'wan red did cast.

For one glance the narcissus cast In boastfulness, thine eye
Into the world an hundred kinds Of strife and dread did cast.

The jessamine, for shame that folk Compared her to thy face,
Dust, by the hand of the East wind, Upon her head did cast.

The rosebud me, last night, in doubt Of that thy rosy mouth,
As by the meadows' banquet hall, Drunken, I sped, did cast.

The violet its twisted locks was knotting up, when lo!
The breeze the story of thy tress In the mid-bed did cast.

Me, for austereness ne'er who looked On minstrel or on wine,
Now into both desire of fair Ones tavern-bred did cast.

The patchcoat now with ruby wine I wash; for never man
Off the primaeval lot, to him Of Fate foresaid, did cast.

Or ever yet the two worlds were, The use of friendship was;
'Tis not of late that Heaven Love's Foundation-stead did cast.

Drunk with thy downy cheek I am: Glory to God, what pen
Thereon that charact'ry, that takes Both heart and head, did cast?

The world is grown to my desire, Since in the servitude
Of the world's lord and master me Time's circling tread did cast.

Belike good luck for Hafiz is In this calamity
That Fate his lot with those that quaff The vinejuice red did cast.