Classic Poem

'Twas a bulbul did a roseleaf, Sweet of hue and scent, hold
In his bill and o'er that treasure Bitter-sweet lament hold.

“In the midst”, quoth I, “Of union, Wherefore this complaining?”
“Me,” said he, “doth my love's beauty In this languishment hold.”

If the Friend with us abide not, Cause there's none for cavil.
For in scorn doth she, the sovran, Beggars indigent hold.

Happy he who with the fair ones Favour hath! From-us-ward,
On the Loved One's beauty taketh Prayer nor blandishment hold.

Strew we on that Painter's pencil Heart and soul, who moulded
All these wonders that the rondures Of the firmament hold!

Ill repute, if Love thou follow, Heed not: in the winehouse
Sheikh Senáan in pledge his patchcoat Let for liquor lent hold.

Fair befall that sweet Calénder, who, in exile's stresses,
Girdle-girt, did to the calling On th' Omnipotent hold!”

Hafiz' eye, beneath yon Houri's Terrace, doth the usance
Of the rivers Paradisal, Under gardens pent, hold.