Classic Poem

Dewy-fresh, blood-thirsty rubies That her lip, yon fair of mine, is;
For their sight my soul to render Sole concern fore'er of mine is.

Shamed be he by those long lashes And that eye of black who seëth
Her heart-ravishing and blamer Yet of this despair of mine is!

Forth the town-gate, camel-driver, Bear my gear not: see, this street-end
Is the King's highroad, for yonder Charmer's dwelling there of mine is.

I'm the thrall of my ill fortune, Since, in this faith-lacking epoch,
Love of yonder tipsy gipsy Lord of this affair of mine is.

Lo! the rose's amber-shedding Cup and calyx but a scantling
Of the overflow of fragrance From yon Scent-the-air of mine is.

From thy door, o gard'ner, breeze-like, Drive me not, for that thy rose-field
Watered by these tears, pomegranate-Flowerlike, red and rare, of mine is.

Draughts of rosewater and sugar From her lip her eye prescribeth,
That physician of this bosom, Sick with love and care, of mine is.

Hafiz' teacher, in th' adorning Of his verse who taught him deftness,
None but yonder subtle-spoken, Sweet-voiced Friend and Fair of mine is.