The moon thou, and I am the candle That fades when the dawn grows red:
But smile thou and see me surrender My soul, like the taper dead.
The brand of desire for thy tresses So deep in my heart is impressed,
My grave that, when life I've departed, 'Twill turn to a violet-bed.
The door of mine eye on thy threshold I opened, in hope that a glance
On me thou wouldst cast; but thou castest Me out from thy sight instead.
Lo, how shall I thank you, o armies Of sorrow (whom God requite!)
That ye, when all else forsook me, Yet ne'er from my bosom fled?
The slave of the man of my eyeball I am; for, black-heart though he be,
He tear-drops by thousands, whenever I count my heart's pains, doth shed.
Our idol to every vision Displayeth herself; but none
Those amorous graces espieth, Whereon but mine eyes are fed.
If over the dust of Hafiz The Friend like the wind should pass,
My shroud I shall rend for longing, At heart of that narrow stead.
But smile thou and see me surrender My soul, like the taper dead.
The brand of desire for thy tresses So deep in my heart is impressed,
My grave that, when life I've departed, 'Twill turn to a violet-bed.
The door of mine eye on thy threshold I opened, in hope that a glance
On me thou wouldst cast; but thou castest Me out from thy sight instead.
Lo, how shall I thank you, o armies Of sorrow (whom God requite!)
That ye, when all else forsook me, Yet ne'er from my bosom fled?
The slave of the man of my eyeball I am; for, black-heart though he be,
He tear-drops by thousands, whenever I count my heart's pains, doth shed.
Our idol to every vision Displayeth herself; but none
Those amorous graces espieth, Whereon but mine eyes are fed.
If over the dust of Hafiz The Friend like the wind should pass,
My shroud I shall rend for longing, At heart of that narrow stead.