Here the fair, with cheek enkindled, Yesternight hath been;
What new heart of her grief-stricken, Burned outright hath been?

Lo, the use of city-troubling, Lover-slaughtering
Is a wede, which on her body Of her dight hath been!

Lovers' souls as rue she holdeth For her face's fire
And her cheek of very purpose Set a-light hath been.

So her tress, that Giaour, may better Stop the way on Faith,
Of that stone-heart lit the face's Cresset bright hath been.

Store of blood the heart had garnered, Which the eye hath spent:
Who hath squandered? And advantaged, God, what wight hath been?

For the world sell not the Loved One; For their profit, who
For base coin of yore sold Joseph, Passing slight hath been.

Though, “I'll slay thee without mercy,” Quoth she, yet I see,
Favour still for me in secret In her sight hath been.

“Hafiz, go,” said she; “the patchcoat Burn;” And well said. Strange
'Tis by whom she taught to fathom Heart and spright hath been!