Classic Poem

At my ogling, in amazement All the tribe of lackwits goeth:
Deem they what they may, my inward Such is as my outward showeth.

Men of wit the centre-point are Of the compasses of being:
But, that head-a whirl the wisest In this circle are, Love knoweth.

Out on lying love-professions And complaints of the Beloved!
Such a lover light deserving Severance himself a voweth.

God my covenant of service With the sweet-lipped ones established;
Each of us a slave is, homage To this lordly folk that oweth.

Drunk at once to be and sober There is no one that a vaileth,
Saving those on whom instruction In this art thine eye bestoweth.

Not the only place mine eyeball Of reflection for her cheek is;
Sun and moon, about her turning, Each, the mirror holding, goeth.

After this, no Magian youngling Will in pawn the Soufi's patchcoat
Take for liquor, if the vintner With our thought acquainted groweth.

Wellaway if they receive not, As a pledge, the woollen patchcoat!
Poor we are and longing in us After wine and minstrel gloweth.

If the wind thy perfume carry To the pleasance-place of spirits,
In its path the pearls of being, Soul and wit, there's none but stroweth.

Every purblind bat availeth Not unto the sun's attatinment;
For amazement from that mirror E'en for folk of insight floweth.

If the pietists conceive not Hafiz' winebibbing, what wonder?
Evil spirits shun the mortal That by heart the Koran knoweth.