Classic Poem

Let us fare the highway of the winehouse To and fro;
All men for a draught's sake need this doorway Less or mo'!

When the First Day's breath in Love and toping First we drew,
In no other path, was it conditioned, Should we go.

In a world where Jem's throne-royal goeth To the wind,
Never quaff the cup of sorrow; better Wine than woe.

So belike we may upon her girdle Clap the hand,
In heart's blood are we, like ripening rubies, Seated low.

On us madmen waste not counsel, preacher! Where the dust
Of the Friend's street is, no glance on Heaven We bestow.

Whilst the Soufis in the dance's rapture Feign themselves,
We, with sleight of hand no less, the tankard Set aflow.

By thy dregs the dust the ruby's value Doth acquire;
Less than dust before thy sight, poor wretches, Do we show.

Since the precious life will soon forsake us, This at least
Grant us, but to look upon thy visage, Ere we go.

Since to union's pinnacle, o Hafiz, Is no way,
In this threshold's dust let's end life's weary Tale of woe.