Classic Poem

Though my wish of thy lip's honey Not vouchsafed have They to me yet,
For thy ruby goblet hoping, " Dreg-drainer! " folk say to me yet.

Heart and faith of yore forsook me For desire of those thy tresses;
What (I wonder) end befalleth, In this traffic's way, to me yet?

One draught of that fire-hued water, (For that I, among the cooked ones
Of the love of her, still raw am,) Skinker, give, I pray, to me yet.

To thy hair one night, in error, " Thou " , quoth I, " art musk of Tart'ry. "
Smiting swords since then my body's Hairs are, well-a-way! to me yet.

To the Loved One's lip, unwitting, Came my name once: since that season,
The soul's fragrance still, for lovers, Round that name doth play to me yet.

In my cell thy face's radiance Saw the sun and like the shadow,
Every breath, on door and roof-tree Cometh since its ray to me yet.

In the Prime thy red lip's skinker From a cup a draught did give us
Such that drunkenness betideth From that wine to-day to me yet.

Ye that say, " Thy soul surrender, So that thine may be heart's easance; "
To her grief my soul I rendered: Ease not giv'n have They to me yet.

Since thy ruby lip's sweet story Put hath Hafiz into writing,
From the reed life's water welleth, Without let or stay, to me yet.