Behoving 'tis that charmers all To thee should homage pay,
Crown-like, o'er all the lovelings' heads Of earth that holdest sway.

Thy tipsy eyes a trouble are Unto all Turkestan;
Yea, tribute to thy tresses' plaits Give India and Cathay

The blackness of thy dusky tress Than midnight blacker is;
The whiteness of thy face more bright Than is the cheek of day.

For this my sickness, whence, indeed, Whence shall I healing find,
Except the anguish of my heart Enforce from thee allay?

To Khizr's water thy strait mouth Continuance gives; thy lip,
Like sugar candy, bears the vogue From Egypt's sweets away

Why breakest thou, o soul of mine, For stony-heartedness,
This heart of ours, that's frail as glass For weakness and dismay?

Thy shape's a cypress, waist a hair And bosom ivory;
Thy down is Khizr and thy lip Life's water doth purvey.

Strange that in Hafiz' head hath fall'n Love for a queen like thee!
Oh would that in thy threshold's dust A menial slave he lay!