ures clearly-beaming make the moon of Beauty bright,
Thou whose chin contains a well-pit[2] which to Loveliness gives light.

When, O Lord! shall kindly Fortune, sating my ambition, pair
This my heart of tranquil nature and thy wild and ruffled hair?

Pining for thy sight my spirit trembling on my lip doth wait:
Forth to speed it, back to lead it, speak the sentence of its fate.

Pass me with thy skirt uplifted from the dusty bloody ground:
Many who have been thy victims dead upon this path are found.

How this heart is anguish-wasted let my heart's possessor know:
Friends, your souls and mine contemplate, equal by their common woe.

Aught of good accrues to no one witched by thy Narcissus eye:
Ne'er let braggarts vaunt their virtue, if thy drunken orbs are nigh.

Soon my Fortune sunk in slumber shall her limbs with vigor brace:
Dashed upon her eye is water, sprinkled by thy shining face.

Gather from thy cheek a posy, speed it by the flying East;
Sent be perfume to refresh me from thy garden's dust at least.

Hafiz offers a petition, listen, and "Amen" reply:
"On thy sugar-dropping rubies let me for life's food rely."

Many a year live on and prosper, Sakis of the court of Jem,[3]
E'en though I, to fill my wine-cup, never to your circle come.

East wind, when to Yazd thou wingest, say thou to its sons from me:
"May the head of every ingrate ball-like 'neath your mall-bat be!"

"What though from your dais distant, near it by my wish I seem;
Homage to your Ring I render, and I make your praise my theme."

Shah of Shahs, of lofty planet, Grant for God what I implore;
Let me, as the sky above thee, Kiss the dust which strews thy floor.

V

Up, Saki!--let the goblet flow;
Strew with dust the head of our earthly woe!

Give me thy cup; that, joy-possessed,
I may tear this azure cowl from my breast,[4]

The wise may deem me lost to shame,
But no care have I for renown or name.

Bring wine!--how many a witless head
By the wind of pride has with dust been spread!

My bosom's fumes, my sighs so warm,
Have inflamed yon crude and unfeeling swarm.[5]

This mad heart's secret, well I know,
Is beyond the thoughts of both high and low.

E'en by that sweetheart charmed am I,
Who once from my heart made sweetness fly.

Who that my Silvern Tree hath seen,
Would regard the cypress that decks the green?[6]

In grief be patie