Classic Poem

From the mosque unto the winehouse Came our elder yesternight:
What's to do for us, o way-mates, With our guide in such a plight?

We disciples, towards the Kaabeh How shall we our faces turn,
Since our elder to the dwelling Of the vintner's set his sight?

Fellow-lodgers in the tavern Of the Magians let us be,
For the Pen of Fate this fashion Did to us of old forewrite.

Knew the wise how blest the heart is In the bondage of her locks,
All would follow madly after These our fetters of delight.

Peace into the snare had fallen Of the falcon of our heart;
But thou shookest out thy tresses And our prize from hand took flight.

Thy fair face to us expoundeth Many a verse from Beauty's book;
Wherefore, in our Commentary, Grace and loveliness unite.

This our nightly lamentation And our sighs that scatter fire,
On thy heart of stone, I wonder, Will they take effect one night?

Blew the wind upon thy tresses And the world on me grew black;
Saving this, thy tress's traffic Nothing profited our spright.

Lo, the arrows of our sighing Pass the Sphere; but " Peace! " quoth she;
" Hafiz, on thyself have mercy: " Ware the shafts of our despite! "