Classic Poem

The tale of cypress, tulip, rose By mead and rill betideth,
Skinker; and with the washers three, this story still betideth.

Drink wine, for lo! The meads' new bride Hath reached the bounds of beauty;
No need the business of the time Of tirer's skill betideth.

See, sugar-chewers now become The parrots all of Hind are,
Since Farsi sugar in Bengal From Hafiz' quill betideth.

This one night's child a twelvemonth's road Hath gone, see how, in travel.
Of verse, the rolling up of Time And Space to nil betideth.

See yonder eye ensorcelling, The devotee-beguiler;
The caravan of magic from Its window-sill betideth.

Asweat she goes with swaying gait, And on the jasmine's visage,
For shame before her face, such sweat As dews distil betideth.

Astray, for the world's blandishments, Go not; for from this beldam,
Whether she sit or go, there's nought But fraud and ill betideth.

Samiri like, who, spying gold, Left Moses of his folly
And followed after calves, be not, Or evil still betideth.

From the king's rosegardens the breeze Of the Spring season wafteth
And on the tulip wine of dews, Its cup to fill, betideth.

Of longing for Ghiyatheddin His court, Keep thou not silence,
Hafiz; for, by complaint, to thee Thy need and will betideth.