Classic Poem

Still from the cypress branches The patient bulbuls cry,
" Far from the rose's visage, Far be the evil eye! "

Rose, as a least thank off'ring That beauty's queen thou art,
For bear the lovelorn bulbuls With pride to mortify.

Complaint anent thine absence I make not; for, indeed,
Who's never absent giveth Scant pleasure, being nigh.

Let zealots hope for Houris And palaces: the inn
Our palace is, the Loved One Our Houri black of eye.

Drink to the harp, unfearing; And if one bid thee drink
No wine, " The Great Forgiver " , Say thou, " is God Most High! "

If other folk in pleasance And mirth delight, for us,
The very source of gladness Is for the fair to sigh.

Why for chagrin of sev'rance, O Hafiz, mak'st thou moan?
The seeds of light and union In night and sev'rance lie.