Classic Poem

Two things are there that I love most in this world and in myself;
In myself my two eyes, and in this world all fair creatures.
From the perfume of their tresses I am as one distracted;
Ever will he that has been snake-bitten be thus beside himself.
Looking at the beauty of fair women I have found my God,
Short is the distance between metaphor and fact.
When I gaze at a lovely face my eyes are never sated,
Every hair upon my head becomes as though an eye with looking.
Those of evil nature know nothing of love's troubles;
What knows the fly of the torments of the moth?
Hope not to escape from the slaughter of her sword,
Hers is no more compassion even for those that she has slain.
The punishments of God are, each one, charges brought against us,
Many are the sufferings this world has brought on me from love.
A lovely face is as a rose, my heart forthwith becomes a bulbul,
The bulbul in distraction hurries wherever the rose may be.
Give me tears of blood, O! my heart, when I would weep,
Such have been my sorrows that no other tears are mine.