Be she mem'ried, who at parting Sign for us of mem'ry made not,
Though our hearts grief-laden lighter With a farewell word she made not!

Yonder child of youthful Fortune, Other slaves when she enfranchised,
Why, I know not, she this bondman Old (myself, to wit,) free made not.

Come, in tears of blood the paper Garment let us wash, since heaven
To the standard-foot of justice Able to attain me made not.

In the hope there may some echo Reach thy hearing, such a clamour
In this mountain my heart maketh As Ferhád's self surely made not.

Nay, the courier of the East wind From thy gait might learn his business:
Wind itself a nimbler ever Than this motion of thee made not.

Since thy shadow thou withdrewest From the meads, the meadow-warbler
Hath its nest within the curling Tresses of the box-tree made not.

Ne'er th' achievement of his wishes Hath Fate's pen to him forewritten
Who confession of thy beauty Giv'n of God Almighty made not.

Minstrel, change the mode; the measure Of Irác strike up, for thither
Went the Loved One and remembrance Of her lovers lorn she made not.

As the verses of Iráki Are the melodies of Hafiz;
Who e'er heard these heart-enkindling Ditties and lament he made not?