Classic Poem

Not each 'tis that kindleth her face, Heart-charmership's way who knoweth;
Not each, mirror-maker that is, Iskender's assay who knoweth;

Not each 'tis that setteth aslant The cap-peak and sitteth austerely
The fashion of sovereignship And th' usance of sway who knoweth.

There's many a subtlety fine, Yea, finer than hair, in this fashion:
Of many the noddle that shave, Caléndership, pray, who knoweth?

Faith-keeping and troth-plight performed, Indeed, it were well if thou learnedst:
There's no one on whom thou mayst look But tyrant to play who knoweth.

The pivot of vision for me, My fair, in thy mole is established;
The jeweller is it the worth Of unions to weigh who knoweth.

Serve not, as the beggarly do, On compact of hire and requital:
The Friend 'tis her servants their pains And service to pay who knoweth.

I'm drowned in the tears of mine eyes And where is the shift shall avail me?
Not every man 'tis in the sea To swim, well-a-way! who knoweth.

The slave of his spirit am I, That safety-surrendering toper,
The alchemist's puissance to wield, In beggar's array, who knoweth.

My heart, the distraught, have I staked And lost at Love's table, unwitting
A daughter of Adam there was, The spells of a fay who knoweth.

That fair the world taketh by storm, For beauty of face and of fashions
The queen of the lovelings, to fare In justice's way who knoweth.

Of Hafiz' heart-ravishing strains None ignorant is, who of nature
Some pleasantness hath and the speech Of the court of the day who knoweth.