Classic Poem

To the new blown rose the bulbul Spake this word at break of day,
" Leave disdain, for, like thee, many Here have bloomed and passed away. "

Laughingly the rose made answer, " Vexed we are not by the truth;
" But hard words to the Beloved Never should the lover say. "

Never was Love's fragrance wafted To his palate who his cheek
On the threshold of the winehouse Never in the dust did lay.

Those who covet wine of rubies From the jewelled cup of Love,
Many a pearl and many a jacinth With the eyelash pierce must they.

In the rose-garden of Irem, Yesternight, in the soft air,
When the spikenard's tress was ruffled By the breeze of coming day,

" Throne of Jem " , I asked the greensward, " Where's thy world-revealing cup? "
" Fortune slept, alack! " it answered, " And the rosetime might not stay. "

Not the word of love, indeed, is That which cometh to the tongue.
Cupbearer, bring wine and grant us Truce from speech and answer, pray.

Hafiz' tears have cast discretion, Ay, and patience to the waves;
What is he to do, who cannot Hide the fire of Love's dismay?