Classic Poem

Glad tidings! Behold, salvation On Dhou Selém hath lit.
To God, the Bestower of blessings, Be praises infinite!

Where is the bringer of tidings Of victory, that I
My soul, like gold and silver, May scatter at his feet?

The covenant-breaker ever Becometh in evil case:
Yea, sacred are trothplights holden Of men of sense and wit

How wonder-goodly a picture, The flight of his foe to th' House
Of Nought, at the King's back-coming, The pen of Fate hath writ!

The foe from Hope's cloud sought somewhat Of mercy; but no; except
The tears of his eye, no moisture It yielded anywhit.

He fell in the Nile of sorrow And scoffingly quoth the Sphere
To him, “Marry, now thou repentest, When profitless is it.”

Skinker, the rose's season It is and the time of mirth;
Come, troll thou the cup and of sorrow For less or more go quit.

Hark from the cup how many A groom yon old, aye new
Wed bride, like Jem, hath slaughtered, And Keikobád, to wit.

“Seek not, o heart, Jem's empire: Call for the cup of wine!”
This was the song of the bulbul That in Jem's gardens lit.

Hafiz his place of biding Hath in the tavern-nook,
As lions couch in the thicket And birds in the orchard sit.