Classic Poem

Long for her the fire of passion Burneth in this soul of ours,
Through the yearnings that this wasted Heart do still control of ours.

In blood-water of the liver Mine eye-apple have they drowned;
Hence the sun-fount of her cheek is In this breast in dole of ours.

Khizr's water but a trickle From that sugared ruby lip,
And a reflex, from that moon-face, Is the round sun's bowl, of ours.

Since the verse “I breathed thereinto Of my breath” I heard, 'tis plain
To my mind that we of hers are And she part and whole of ours.

Apprehension of Love's myst'ries Is not giv'n to every heart;
Nay, that high and subtle secret's Known but to this soul of ours.

Prate no longer, o expounder Of the Faith; for lo! our faith
In both worlds is the enjoyment Of that Loved One sole of ours.

Hafiz, give God thanks for ever That, from the First Day, ordained
Was yon fair this soul to mate with, Comfort and console of ours.