Classic Poem

For the cark of the time, whereunto Bound or confine I see not,
Med'cine or salve or solace, Save Red-bud wine, I see not.

Ne'er of the Sheikh of the Magians Will I forswear the converse;
Since that, in this, advantage Or profit mine I see not.

A draught in this sore cropsickness Of Love to me none giveth;
Alack, in the world-all, mortal Of heart benign I see not!

Come, by the sun of the winecup The altitude of life take;
For truly the time's ascendant Fast in this line I see not.

Enamourment's still the token Of sages: keep thy counsel;
For lo! in the city's teachers And sheikhs this sign I see not.

Question me not of her middle, Whereto my heart I've bounden;
Since mine own self, — much less, then, Her waist hair-fine, — I see not.

Pity that I so blinded Am with my tears that plainly
Her face with these double mirrors, My weeping eyne, I see not!

Since that thy shape, Beloved, The stream of mine eyes departed,
Aught there save running water, For cypress and pine, I see not.

I to this bark of Hafiz Forever cleave; for, saving
In this sea, pearls heart-luring Of speech divine I see not.