Classic Poem

" Pity, monarch of the lovely " , Quoth I, " to this stranger show! "
" If, " said she, " the heart they follow, Wretched strangers straying go " .

" Stay awhile " , quoth I; but " Prithee, Hold me " answered she " excused.
" How shall one house-reared and nurtured Bear so many a stranger's woe? "

What reck tenderlings, who couch them On imperial minever,
If the stranger's bed and pillow Thorns and pebbles be or no?

Thou, in whose tress-fetters captive Is so many a lover's soul,
Wonder-fair the black mole showeth On thy face's rosy snow!

Passing strange appear the ant-like Characters about thy cheek,
Though musk-strokes in China's pictures Are familiar enow.

Wonder-goodly on thy moonface Shows the mirrored flush of wine,
Like the blossom of the Redbud On the eglantine in blow.

" Thou, " quoth I, " whose night-hued browlocks Are the strangers' eventide,
" Have a care lest I bewail me 'Gainst thee in the foredawn glow. "

" Moon of me " , again I pleaded, " Cover not that rosehued cheek,
" An thou wouldst not make us strangers. Weariful and full of woe. "

" Hafiz " , said she, " those who know me In amazement's stead abide.
" Where's the wonder; then, if strangers Woeful and distracted grow? "