Classic Poem

Now praised be God That open the winehouse's door is,
For thereto addressed The face of our wish evermore is!

All drunken with glee, In clamour and ferment the jars are;
The liquor therein Reality, not metaphor, is.

In her , sooth to say, All drunkenness, swagger and pride is;
All weakness in us , Imploring and sufferance sore is.

A secret, that ne'er I've told nor will tell to the vulgar,
I'll tell to the Friend; For skilled she in mystery's lore is

Her tress, curl on curl, T' unfold, in the way of abridgment,
Impossible 'tis, For this is the longest of stories.

The cheek of Mehmoud With Ayaz's foot and the browlock
Of Leila still linked With the burden of Mejnoun's heart's core is.

Mine eye from the sight Of the world I have seeled, like the falcon,
Since open it on The cheek of the maid I adore is.

Whoever himself To thy village's Kaabeh betaketh,
For th'arch of thy brows, In the eye-point of prayer at thy door is.

Companions, the case Of the fire in the heart of poor Hafiz
Of the candle enquire, That melting and burning e'ermore is.