Classic Poem

Vouchsafed is the sight of the fair To me and her kiss and embrace, too;
To Fortune I render my thanks And Time, for the granted grace, too.

Peace, pietist, go! For this luck If't truly intended for me is,
My hand shall the goblet uprear And the tress of the loveling enlace, too.

Come, no one henceforth let us blame For toping and draining of goblets;
For goodly the wine is and sweet The lovely one's lip and her face, too.

I give thee glad tidings, o heart! The Mohtesib ruleth no longer;
Full, full is the world-all of wine And lovelings that quaff it apace, too.

Yea, past is the time when await The Evil Eye watched us from ambush;
Gone, gone are the foes from the midst And tears o'er the bosom a-race, too.

'Tis foolishness into the hand Of trouble the mind to surrender;
Nay, call for a booklet of songs And a flagon of wine set in place, too.

Come, strew on the dustlings of love The dregs of her goblet of ruby,
So rubied their dust may become And raining with musk be their trace, too.

Since all things create, o my fair, But live in the hope of thy favour,
O sun, then, withhold not from us Somedele of the shade of thy grace, too!

Since born of thy beauty's o'erflow The sheen of the tulip and rose is,
Rain, favouring cloud, upon us, Thy lovers, the abject and base, too.

Though captive the wise thou hast ta'en, I rede thee fear God and his justice,
The Vizier august of Jemshid, The monarch of Khusrewi race, too;

The Asef hight Burhan el Mulk W'ed Din, by the hand of whose statecraft
A mine is Time waxen of wealth And an ocean of riches is Space, too;

The man, to whose luminous wit The heavens, at dawntide, in homage,
Do render the soul and the stars Themselves in his presence efface, too.

The ball of the universe off Is borne by the mall of thy justice,
And so is yon blue-vaulted dome, That ceileth the heavens' high-place too.

Thy purpose, so light of rein-hand, It is unto motion that urgeth
Yon high-vaulted, firm-centred sphere, Yon firmament stable of base, too.

What while, by the course of the sphere And the Days' revolution, the Autumns
And Springtides alternate and years And months years and months ever chase, too,

Unfurnished with chieftains and lords Be never the halls of thy glory,
With cupbearers, cypress of shape, And lovelings rose-coloured of face, too!

Poor Hafiz, in spite of the pearls Which he in thy praises hath lavished,
Confounded withal is before Thy presence and shamefast of case, too.