Classic Poem

Both her lips has she now parted,
Pearls she pours upon her lover.
When I look upon thy face,
No wish is mine for flowers or garden;
The Rose from shame forgets to blossom
When it looks upon thy cheeks.
May good fortune now betide me,
I am waiting for our meeting.
Whether faithful they or false,
Breathe not once upon my rivals;
Take one glance but in thy mirror
If the choicest flower thou'dst see.
To whom complainest thou, Khush-hal?
Who is there that hears thy plaints?