Classic Poem

When hand to her tress I clap, away She in heat goeth;
And if concord I seek, in chiding's way Her conceit goeth.

With the curve of her crescent-moon-like brow, She cutteth the way
On the helpless onlookers and into the veil Of retreat goeth.

O' winedrinking nights, she ruineth me With wakefulness;
And by day, if my story I tell, to sleep The cheat goeth.

Full, full is the pathway of Love, o heart, Of trouble and strife;
Yea, still shall he tremble who in this way O'erfleet goeth

When the wind of conceit in the bubble's head Befalleth, alack!
Its lordship forthright, for desire of wine, To defeat goeth.

Boast beauty and lovesomeness not, o heart, When old thou'rt grown;
For this same traffic except with youth Unmeet goeth.

When the scroll of the sable hair for once Is folded up,
The white ne'er, out though an hundred times Plucked be't, goeth.

Sell not for the kingship thy beggarhood At the Loved One's door.
Who forth of this door-shade into the sun's Full heat goeth?

Thou callest me, “Covenant-breaker;” yet, Thyself, I fear,
On the Day of Uprising, the same address To greet goeth.

Thy hindrance thyself in the way of Love Thou art, Hafiz;
O happy whoso in this way, sans let For his feet, goeth!