The apple of mine eye, my fair, Thy place of session grown is;
Show favour, then, and light thee down; For lo! the house thine own is.

By dint of grace of down and mole, The sages' hearts thou stealest;
Many a rare charm beneath thy snare And grain for bait there sown is.

Glad in th'enjoyment of the rose Thy heart be, bird of morning!
For all the amorous descant Thine in the meads alone is.

Our sick heart's tending to thy lip Commit thou; for that ruby
Exhilarant no otherwhere Than in thy treasure known is.

On thee in person though to wait Is happiness denied me,
My soul's quintessence as the dust Upon thy threshold strown is.

Not one am I that give the heart's Fine gold to every wanton:
Sealed with the seal the treasure-door Upon thy signet-stone is.

How skilled a cavalier thou art, O fair one; since of Fortune
(That unbroke colt) obedience, Beneath thy whip-lash, shown is!

What can I do against thy craft, Since even juggler Fortune
By what thy budget of pretence Holdeth of tricks o'erthrown is?

The music of thy banquetings The heav'ns to dancing moveth,
Now Hafiz' dulcet verse combined With thy sweet voice's tone is.