Classic Poem

To quittance, for spiteful Fortune, My need arriveth not;
To solace my heart, for dolour Ableed, arriveth not.

Although in the dust of her quarter I grovel it, like the dog,
My face-water floweth ever, But feed arriveth not.

A morsel of bone or sinew, For gnawing, to me, except
With thousands of wounds my palate Be flead, arriveth not

By the Friends' heart, I'm weary Of life; but where's the help
For the helpless, what while the period Decreed arriveth not?

See, Jacob's two eyes for longing Are waxen white and yet
From Egypt to Canaan tidings, Indeed, arriveth not.

Full sore is my heart beladen With love for thee Alack
That that which I seek to-me-ward With speed arriveth not!

Excepting an hundred thousand Of thorns from the soil do spring,
A single sweet rose from rosebush To mead arriveth not.

Of all Time's wrongs to the worthy, This one annoy's enough
That hand unto soul, to cancel Life's seed, arriveth not.

The worthless uplift to Saturn Their heads; but aught, save sighs,
Of folk of desert to the heaven Of meed arriveth not.

Be patient, Hafiz; for whoso His soul surrend'reth not
To loved one (Thus ordaineth Love's creed) arriveth not.