Classic Poem

Thou, whose cheek is like the gardens of the skies,
Thou, whose lip is as the springs of Paradise,

Round thy mouth the tender younglings of the down,
Like to ants that swarm round Selsebil, arise.

Do with me , Lord, as with Abraham Thou didst;
Quench the fire, that in my soul is, on like guise.

Lo, no strength I have remaining in me, friend;
For that fair she is and lovesome past apprize.

Short our hand is and the date is on the palm;
Lame our foot and far as heaven the emprise.

Hundreds, such as I, of slain ones, in each nook
Fall'n and perished, hath the arrow of thine eyes.

To the World-King fall endurance, might and ease
And whatever else he willeth on this wise!

In the grip of love and longing for the fair,
Hafiz, ant-like at the elephant's foot, lies.