Classic Poem

The East wind, at the break of day, A waft from the Friend's tress hath broughten
And my distracted heart anew Withal in strife and stress hath broughten.

From my heart's garden had I torn That sapling pine; for every rose-bush,
That sprang from the concern of her, For bloom but wretchedness hath broughten.

My bleeding heart I caused take flight, Fearing th'assault of Love; but it
Dripped blood along the way and Love Thus on its heels to press hath broughten.

The splendour of the moon I saw From out her palace roof-top shining,
Whereat its face unto the wall The sun for shamefastness hath broughten.

With minstrel's song and cupbearer Forth went I, in and out of season;
Since news the messenger uneath, For the road's heaviness, hath broughten.

That which the Friend bestoweth all By way of bounty is and favour;
Whether the rosary it be Or girdle her largesse hath broughten.

Her eyebrow's fold may God assoil! For though forlorn indeed it made me,
It to the sick the joyful news Of health by its caress hath broughten.

Fair fall that season when my heart From out the tangle of her tresses
A work produced, which it for good The foeman to confess hath broughten!

For envy of her fragrant locks, Unto the breezes of the desert
The East each musk-pod gave, which it From Tart'ry's wilderness hath broughten.

I marvelled yesternight to see Hafiz with cup and flask, but chid not;
Since he them Soufi-wise (to wit, Concealed within his dress,) hath broughten.