Classic Poem

If ever it be vouchsafed me The hand in thy tress to twine,
O many's the head that, ball-like, I'll smite with that mall of thine!

Thy tress unto me long life is; And yet of that same long life
No end of a hair, woe worth it! I hold in this hand of mine.

Vouchsafe me a writ of easance, O candle, that, candle-like,
In fire of the heart, before thee, To-night, I may melt and dwine.

That moment when, like the flagon, I give up the ghost with a laugh,
May prayers for my soul's well-being Be said of thy drunken eyne!

The prayer of a man polluted Like me is no proper prayer;
And hence in the winehouse, melting And burning, fore'er I pine.

In tavern and mosque if thine image Beseek me, of thy brows
A viol in one I fashion, In t'other a praying-shrine.

And if for a night thou lighten Our cell with thy radiant cheek,
All over the world, like morning, My head shall arise and shine.

Yea, worthy of praise the issue Of quest in the path of Love,
Albe for desire of the Loved One The life one must needs resign.

To whom the heart's grief shall I utter, O Hafiz? In this our time
There's no one my secret worthy To share but the cup of wine.