Classic Poem

The world with the new moon decketh The Festival's eyebrow-bend;
The moon of the Feast behoveth Behold in the brow of the Friend.

Lo, like to the back of the crescent, My stature is bowed become,
Since the Loved One the bow of her eyebrow With henna afresh hath penned

Nay, cover thou not thy visage Nor reck of the gaze of the folk;
For the down on thy cheek reciteth And breatheth its “God forfend!”

It is as a waft of thy fragrance Hath passed o'er the meads at dawn,
That the rose, for thy scent, like the morning, Her raiment in twain doth rend.

Or ever were harp and ghittern, Or ever were rose and wine,
The clay of my life with grapejuice And rosewater Fate did blend

O come, that to thee I may utter The sorrow and stress of my heart;
For, without thee, my fair, I neither Can speak nor to speech attend.

Though life be the price of thy favours, I, I am the purchaser;
The sage the good gear still buyeth, How dear it soe'er they vend.

Far be it from thee, Beloved, My tears to provoke, for lo!
Without thee, like wind, to roll in The dust of thy way they wend.

What time in the night of thy tresses The moon of thy cheek I see,
Thy face to my night the likeness Of luminous day doth lend.

My soul's at the lip for longing And never a wish achieved!
My hope's at an end and my questing Is not yet come to an end.

For longing after thy visage Hath Hafiz these verses writ:
O read them aright and after, For pearls, to thine ear append.