Classic Poem

Skinker, with light of wine Kindle our cup and fill!
Sing, minstrel, sing; for the course Of the world is come to our will!

Glassed in the goblet we see The face of the Friend. O thou
That know'st not the sweets of our draught, Hold it us not for ill!

The glance and the gait of the straight Shaped lovelings avail until
Our pine-waving cypress comes In glory, and then they're nil.

He dieth never whose heart With love is vivified:
Our durance fast in the Book Of the World is stablished still.

I doubt me, the lawful bread Of the sheikh, on the Reckoning Day,
No vantage will have above The water forbid we swill.

O wind, an thou chance to pass By the rose-garden of the Friend,
Prithee, our greeting of love Lay on the earth of her sill.

Say, “Why hast thou put out our name From memory? Near is the time
“When of our name shall bide No memory, will or nill”.

When, Bird of Fortune, tame Wilt thou to us become?
My soul, as the tulip it were, Shuts in the weather chill.

Excellent drunkenness is In the eyes of our heart-binding fair;
To drunkenness hence have the Fates Given the reins of our will.

The boat of the crescent moon And the azure sea of the sky
Are drowned in the cup that the grace Of our Hajji Kiwám doth fill.

The grain of the tears from thine eyes Strew, Hafiz; it may be the bird
Of union shall make for our snare And take our bait in his bill.