Classic Poem

My heart, for desire of the visage so fair Of Ferrukh,
Is tangled and mazed like the mazy hair Of Ferrukh.
There's no one excepting the Indian it be of her tress,
Who's blest with the sight of the beauty so rare Of Ferrukh.
O happy that fair-fortuned blackmoor, for that it
The waymate and housemate is fore'er Of Ferrukh!
The proud garden cypress a-quake like the willow becomes,
At sight of the heart-luring stature and air Of Ferrukh.
Give, cupbearer, wine of the Redbud's hue, so we
A toast to the witching narcissus may bear Of Ferrukh.
My shape, for chagrin, is bended in twain like the bow,
Is bowed like the brows, for sorrow and care, Of Ferrukh.
The fragrance of Tartary musk is put to shame
By the waft of the ambergris-scented hair Of Ferrukh.
Yea, whithersoever men's hearts incline and tend,
My heart in the traces still doth fare Of Ferrukh.
The servant am I of his magnanimity,
Like Hafiz, who's bound in the tresses' snare Of Ferrukh.