Classic Poem

What though with tongue strives with me my mistress,
In her heart with many a kindness treats me my mistress:
When she comes and throws her arms around my neck,
Far from me all trouble dispels my mistress.
No need to her of a sword, a cold look is enough,
If on my death resolved be my mistress.
When the light of her beauty she displays to me,
Just like a moth do I become before my mistress.
A Beggar I, a monarch she, therefore it befits
That to my devotion respect should pay my mistress.
With every one she jests with open heart,
But to me her heart has closed my mistress.
A studded nose-ring is all that adorns her face,
Satisfied with a necklace of black cloves is my mistress.
To my rivals is she softer far than wax,
But to Khush-hal harder than stone is the heart of his mistress!