Classic Poem

My soul cometh forth and my wish, Belov'd, of thee cometh not forth;
My fortune from slumber and sloth, Ah, woe is me! cometh not forth.

The wind of the East in mine eye Cast a grain of the dust of her street,
So the water of life in my sight, Inapt to see, cometh not forth.

So long as thy tall slender shape I clip not, my fair, in mine arms,
To fruitage the plant of my heart, My wishes' tree, cometh not forth.

My heart in thy tress made its home; For 't saw it a populous place.
Since, news from that exile, oppressed Of misery, cometh not forth.

Belike that heart-comforting face Our wish shall accomplish; but, else,
On othergates fashion our need To certainty cometh not forth.

From the bow of sincerity shafts Of prayer by the thousand I launch;
What booteth it? One to the mark, The heart of thee, cometh not forth.

The least obligation of Love's Surrender, o Hafiz, of life;
Begone, if its due from thy hand, To this degree, cometh not forth.