Classic Poem

Hither, hither, o ye weary, o ye sons of wail and woe,
Ye, who've proved the hollow shimmer of this world of fleeting show,
Ye, who've seen your hearts' hopes vanish, like the firstlings of the snow;

Ye, who scorn the brutal bondage of this world of misbelief,
Ye, who bear the royal blazon of the heart afire with grief,
Hearken, hearken to my calling, for I proffer you relief.

I am he whom men call teller of the things that none may see,
Tongue of speech of the Unspoken, I am he that holds the key
Of the treasuries of vision and the mines of mystery.

I am he that knows the secrets of the lands beyond the goal,
I am he that solves the puzzles of the sorrow-smitten soul,
I am he that giveth gladness from the wine-enlightened bowl;

I am he that heals the wounded and the weary of their scars,
I am Hafiz, son of Shiraz, in the pleasant land of Fars,
Where I flung my flouting verses in the faces of the stars.

See, my hands are full of jewels from the worlds beyond the tomb.
Here be pearls of perfect passion from the middle dreamland's womb,
Here be amethysts of solace, for the purging of your gloom:

Here be rubies red and radiant, of the colour of the heart,
Here be topazes sun-golden, such as rend the dusk apart,
Here be sapphires steeped in heaven, for the salving of your smart.

If your souls are sick with sorrow, here is that which shall appease;
If your lips are pale with passion, here is that which hath the keys
To the sanctuaries of solace and the halidomes of ease.

Let the bigot tend his idols, let the trader buy and sell;
Ears are theirs that cannot hearken to the tale I have to tell,
Eyes that cannot see the treasures that are open to my spell.

Where is he that's heavy-laden? Lo, my hand shall give him peace.
Where are they that dwell in darkness? I am he that can release.
Where is he that's world-bewildered? I will give his cares surcease.

Hither, hither with your burdens! I have that shall make them light.
I have salves shall purge the earth mists from the fountains of your sight,
I have spells shall raise the morning in the middest of your night.

Come, o doubt-distracted brother! Come, o heavy-burthened one!
Come to me and I will teach you how the goal of rest is won,
Come and I will cleave your darkness with the splendours of the sun.

Leave your striving never-ending, let the weary world go by;
Let its bondmen hug their fetters, let its traders sell and buy,
With the roses in the garden we will sojourn, you and I.

Since the gladness and the sadness of the world alike are nought,
I will give you wine to drink of from the ancient wells of thought,
Where it's lain for ages rip'ning, whilst the traders sold and bought.

What is heav'n, that we should seek it? Wherefore question How or Why?
See, the roses are in blossom, see, the sun is in the sky;
See, the land is lit with summer, let us live before we die.