All the talk with us yest'reven Of those ringlets rare of thine was;
Till the heart of night, the question Of that tangling hair of thine was.

Yea, his heart, though all a-bleeding For the arrows of thy lashes,
Once more longing for the bow-horns Of that eyebrow-pair of thine was.

God be gracious to the East wind, That of thee to us brought tidings!
Else, on none we lit who coming From that quarter there of thine was.

Ere thou wast, the world knew nothing Of Love's mischief and its stresses;
Nay, the world's first strife-exciter That bewitching air of thine was

Of the people of salvation Even I was, the distracted,
Till I taken in that blackmoor Browlock's highway-snare of thine was.

Loose the fast'ning of thy tunic, So my heart may be expanded;
For whatso I've found of solace From that side, fore'er, of thine was.

By thy faith, I do adjure thee, Pass thou by the tomb of Hafiz,
Who the world hath left and longing For that face, my fair, of thine was.