Classic Poem

O cypress fresh of beauty, That far'st with gracious gait,
An hundred needs in lovers Thy charms each breath create.

Fair fall thee beauty's vesture! For, in Creation's Prime,
Cut to thy cypress-stature Was grace's wede of Fate.

Be whosoe'er desireth Thy locks' grisamber scent,
Like aloes in the censer, Content to burn and wait!

The standard of my passion, For all the enviers' girds,
Though, gold-like, in the forceps They clip me, ne'er shall bate.

Heart-burning from the candle The moth hath; but my heart,
Without thy face's candle, Indeed, is melted straight.

The heart, that once hath compassed The Káabeh of thy street,
For love of thy high places, Forgetteth Mecca's state.

What boots each breath ablution With eyeblood, when, without
The prayer-niche of thine eyebrows, Unlawful prayer I rate?

The Soufi, who, without thee, Had wine renounced, last night
His compact broke, when open He saw the winehouse gate.

Like must at jar-head, Hafiz, When yesternight he heard
The secret from the cup-lip, Went dancing, all elate.