Classic Poem

Though my case, indeed, is tangled Grown by those her tresses two,
Hope I have that, by her bounty, Yet the knot I shall undo.

Not to mirth ascribe the redness Of my face; nay, from my cheek
'Tis the heart's blood is reflected, As the wine the flagon through.

Sure, the minstrel's tune is minded Me beside myself to make;
For, alack! to me forbidden Access is that screen into!

So that nought that fane may enter, Save the thought of her alone,
Nightly o'er my heart's high places Watch I till the day grow blue.

Fall'n asleep, by her enchantments, Is my fortune's eye: alack!
Where's a breeze of heaven's favour, That shall wake it me anew?

Lo! I am that poet-wizard, Who, by speech's sorcery,
From the reed-pen's bill, around me Sugar still and honey strew.

With an hundred hopes I entered In this desert; o thou guide
Of my strayed heart, never leave me In this waste without a clue!

Since myself I cannot see her, In her wind-swift passing by,
How shall I entreat another That for me to her he sue?

Yesternight, " All face is Hafiz And hypocrisy, " quoth she.
Nay, thy doorway's dust excepted, Say, with whom have I to do?