Classic Poem

If the Soufi drink with measure, Sweet to him its zest still be!
Else the thought thereof forgotten Of the wight were best still be.

And that one who on his fellows Can a single draught bestow,
May the loveling of his wishes To his bosom prest still be!

Quoth our elder, “Nought of error Can Creation's pen betide.”
May the insight of that pure one, Error-cov'ring, blest still be!

To the enemies' suggestion Hearkened erst the Turkman king:
Siyawésh's blood, the guiltless, Of his shame attest still be!

This mine eye a mirror-holder Of her mole and down is grown:
May my lip of the kiss-snatchers From her neck and breast still be!

Though, for pride, to me, the dervish, Not a word it speak, my soul,
For her mute sweet mouth's pistachio, Sacrifice profest still be!

To her drunken eye's narcissus, Man-subduing, blandishing,
Lovers' blood, in beakers drunken, Lawful at her hest still be!

World-renowned become is Hafiz For his servitude to thee:
Of thy tress's ring of service May his ear possest still be!