Classic Poem

Tell me, o soul, who bade thee Thus of our case ask not,
Stranger to play, of loved ones Tidings or trace ask not?

Never a whit of knowledge Had of the dervish-world
Whoso “The dervish” bade thee “Of his own race ask not.”

True to thy generous nature, Pardon a fault undone
And of the past and happened, Eke, of thy grace, ask not.

Wilt thou Love's burning clearly Know, of the candle ask,
And of the wind, that bloweth, Place unto place, ask not.

Yea, of the cloister patchcoats Seek not the coin of quest;
And of the Grand Elixir Mendicants base ask not.

We of Sikender never Nor of Darius read;
Us save of Trothplight's story And of Love's case ask not.

Lo, in Leach Reason's volume Chapter is none of Love;
Heart, learn to bear and balsam, Pain to efface, ask not.

Come is the rose's season; Hafiz, the present time
Use and of How and Wherefore, Now, for a space, ask not.