Classic Poem

Lord, that new-blown rose and smiling, Which to me Thou didst commit,
From its envious fellows' glances To thy safeguard I remit.

Though an hundred stages distant From Faith's stead she's wandered, far
Be the moon's revolving chances From her body and her wit!

If to Selma's camping-quarter, O East wind, thou chance to come,
Bear to her from me, I prithee, Salutation fair and fit.

Gently open thou the muskpod Of her jetty tress: but soft!
For of lovers' hearts the prison 'Tis: so never touzle it.

Say, “My heart the right of faith hath O'er thy down and mole: it safe
“Keep in that grisamber browlock, Where in bondage it doth sit.”

In a stage, where to the memory Of her lip they quaff, full base
Is the sot with whom self-knowledge Yet abideth anywhit.

Wealth one may not win nor honour From the winehouse-door; needs must
Whoso of this water drinketh To the waves his gear commit.

Unto him who fashery feareth Be the grief of love forbid!
At her gree, our heads her footstool Or our lips with hers be knit!

Hafiz' verses all the chiefest Couplet are of Wisdom's Ode:
Blessings on his speech so gracious And his heart-alluring wit!