If thy face to the moon likened, Yea, and to Perwin they've made,
Estimation by conjecture Of a thing unseen they've made.

But a scantling of the story Of our sense-bewild'ring love
Are the tales Ferhád concerning And his love Shirín they've made

Wine, o skinker! For no striving Is against Foreordinance;
Unsusceptible of change is What, for weal or teen, They've made.

Eyelash long and witching glances Ne'er such havoc made as that
Swarthy mole and musky tresses, With their sable sheen, they've made.

Look with scorn not on the topers' Earthern tankards, for themselves
Servants to the cup that showeth All the worldly scene they've made.

How shall one, Who's strange to wisdom, Take the daughter of the vine
To his heart, whose dowry reason's Cash, since Time hath been, They've made?

Abject wretches, without portion In the dregs of bounty's cup,
What a practice of oppression, Lo, of lovers mean They've made!

Of the chase and jess unworthy Is the wing of crow and kite;
This the portion of the merlin And the peregrine They've made.

Life-renewing scent for lovers Still the charmer's street-dust hath;
Therewithal the spirit's palate Ever sweet and clean they've made.

Much, in truth, wherever hearkened It hath been, of Hafiz' verse
(Which is nothing but the praises Of thy charms, my queen,) they've made.