Classic Poem

The violet spake to the rose last night And a goodly sign hath given;
" A fair one's curl to the world, " quoth she, " This crook of mine hath given. "

My heart is the storehouse of mysteries; But Fate hath locked the portal
And into a heart-stealer's hand, alack! The key of the shrine hath given.

I come to thy door on cripple-wise; For unto me prescription
The leach of those favours (mummy-like That heal) of thine hath given.

By me as she passed, poor broken wretch, " 'Las, " quoth she to the watcher,
" My lover slain! Lo, what a soul He up, in fine, hath given! "

Sound be his body and glad his heart And goodly still his humour
Who unto the weak, in fellowship, The hand benign hath given!

Go, monisher! medicine thyself! When was there mortal ever,
Whom anydele annoy or hurt Sweetheart or wine hath given?

The treasure of Hafiz' heart to men Enough of mystery's jewels,
Thanks to thy love, to stock the world With gems Divine, hath given.