Classic Poem

Such am I that the tavern-nook A hermitage for me is;
The dawntide exercise to greet The Ancient Mage for me is.

If not for me the morning harp Be smitten sweet, what matter?
My own contrite lament at dawn Fit minstrelage for me is.

Of King and beggar am I quit, Thanks be to God! The beggar
Of the Beloved's threshold-dust King of the age for me is.

What I from mosque and tavern seek Reunion with thee is;
No other aim or thought than this, God be my gage! for me is.

Better thy beggar be than king! True honour and true glory
The meek endurance of thy bonds And vassalage for me is.

Yea, since the time I laid my face Upon thy noble threshold,
Above the throne place of the sun A harbourage for me is.

Except the sword of Death uproot The tent of my existence,
From this thy happy-fortuned door No pilgrimage for me is.

Good breeding, Hafiz, use and say, " Mine is the fault, " albeit
No choice in this affair t'engage Or not engage for me is.