Classic Poem

There's none who fallen victim Unto thy tress is not;
Who is there in whose pathway Snare of duresse is not?

'Tis as thy face a mirror Were of the Light Divine;
Ay is 't; and in this saying Two-facedness is not.

The zealot bids me turn from Thy face: O rare! In him,
Before thy face and heaven, Lo! shamefastness is not!

Weep, candle of the morning, For my case and thine own;
For thine or mine this hidden Fire of distress is not.

God witness is (and witness Sufficient God is) that
My tear than the blood-shedding Of martyrs less is not.

Thine eye would the narcissus Fain ape; but in its head
And eye, poor wretch, or knowledge Or lightsomeness is not.

Busk not thy locks, 'fore heaven; For ours a night, when we
Not with the East wind battle For that thy tress, is not.

I, when she went, " Thy promise Keep, idol " , said; and she
" Thou dot'st; such thing, at present, As faithfulness is not " .

Since from the corner-sitters Thine eye the heart doth steal,
Sure, in thy train to follow. For us excess is not.

Come back, for in the banquet Of friends, without thy face,
O heart-enkindling candle, Light or liesse is not.

What if the Magian Elder My teacher be? There's ne'er
A head where some God's secret, For more or less, is not.

To say, in the sun's presence, " I am the fount of light " ,
For little stars befitting, The wise confess, is not.

Fair fame by stranger-tending Is gotten: soul, 'twould seem
The usance in thy city Of gentilesse is not.

Needs must the lover suffer The shafts of censure: shield
For champion 'gainst the arrows Of Fate and stress is not.

Lo, in the zealot's cloister, As in the Soufi's cell,
Except thine eyebrows' angle, A prayer-recess is not.

O thou, whose hand in Hafiz' Heart's blood is dipped, in thee,
'Twould seem, against God's Koran Fear to trangress is not.