Classic Poem

My way, like the breeze, To the Loved One's abode I will make;
My soul musky-breathed With the dust of her road I will make.

All honour and fame, That by learning and faith I have won,
As dust in the path Of that lovely one strowed I will make.

To waste, without wine And beloved, life lapseth amain;
Henceforward away With idleness' load I will make.

Where's the wind of the East? For my soul, blood-besteeped like the rose,
On the scent of her locks, As strewage, bestowed I will make.

As the lamp of the morn It is manifest grown unto me
That away with my life For her love, on this mode, I will make.

For the sake of thine eye, My self I'll lay waste and the base
Of the covenant old Withal firm and broad I will make.

Dissembling and fraud Give, Hafiz, not gladness of heart:
The pathway of Love And toping my road I will make.