Classic Poem

I am drunken with loveliking For yon tavern-friend of mine:
At my wounded heart her glances Launch the arrows of repine.

When the cross (to wit, the pleatings) Of thy tress thou openest,
Many a Muslim is perverted By that infidel of thine.

Unto thee I clave and severed Have from all but thee the heart;
He who is thy mate to stranger Nor to kinsman doth incline.

Nay, vouchsafe a glance of kindness Unto me, the heart-bereft;
For, without thy helping favour, Prospers none of my design.

If thy ruby lip strew somewhat On my wounded heart of salt,
O thou queen of beauty's kingdom, Where would be the harm, in fine?

Lo, behind me and before me, Ambush set thy tipsy eye
And the harvest of my patience To the winds it did consign.

From thy mouth, that honey-casket, Lay a salve on Hafiz' heart,
All a-bleeding with the glances, Lance-and-sting like, of thine eyne.