Classic Poem

The Huma of fairest fortune Into our snare befalleth,
If by our dwelling, haply, Thee it to fare befalleth.

Like to the rising bubbles, I throw up my cap for joyance,
If it our cup to mirror Thy visage fair befalleth.

Some night when the moon of our wishes Upon the horizon riseth,
A ray of her radiance haply Our roof-tree there befalleth.

Since even the wind's admitted Not to thy presence-chamber,
The chance of our salutation How, when or where befalleth?

Methought, when my soul I rendered Unto thy lip for ransom,
" A drop of its honeyed water, Sure, to our share befalleth! "

" Ne'er think, " quoth her tress's phantom, " To buy with thy soul thy wishes:

" Of this kind of game abundance O'ermuch in our snare befalleth. "

Turn not from this door, despairing: An omen cast; peradventure
It may be the die of good fortune Thy name, unaware, befalleth.

Each time of the dust of thy doorway That Hafiz a mention maketh,
A waft from the soul's rose-garden Our palate fore'er befalleth.