All compact of grace and beauty Is my loved one's moonlike face;
Love and faith, o Lord, vouchsafe her; For of these she hath no trace.

My heart-ravisher a child is; But she will some day in sport
Slay me abject and the canon Hold her guiltless of the case.

Best it were from her that straitly I my heart should guard; for she
Good and bad not yet hath proven, Knoweth worthy not from base.

I a fourteen-year-old idol Have, a fair one, slim and sweet,
Whose the full moon ring-in-ear is, Slave and bondman of her grace.

From her lip like sugar cometh Yet the scent of mother's milk,
Though upon her black eye's glances Followeth the blood apace.

Whither is our heart, I wonder, After yonder new-blown rose
Gone a-stray? We have not on it Looked this many a long day's space.

If my lovely one continue Hearts to shatter on this wise,
Soon the Sultan will impress her For his guard in war and chase.

In thanksgiving would I render To that peerless pearl my life,
If the shell of Hafiz' eyeball Should become its biding-place.