The love of a youngling maid In my head grown white hath fallen;
The secret that in my heart I hid Into light hath fallen.

The bird of my heart took wing And followed the path of vision;
But see in whose snare, o eye, The wretch, in its flight, hath fallen!

In my liver, the musk-pod like, How much heart's blood (woe worth it!)
For love of that black-eyed fawn, That musk-deer bright, hath fallen!

From passage along the dust Of thy street each musk-pod cometh,
That into the hand of the breeze Of ended night hath fallen.

Since first the world-conquering sword Thine eyelash drew on creation,
Dead, each upon each, how many A heart-live wight hath fallen!

O who was it reared this wine, So Paradisal of perfume
That, senseless, the vintner drunk, For its scent, outright hath fallen?

The flint, though its life it give, Becometh never the ruby:
Its portion in abjectness, By Fate's unright, hath fallen.

Long use in this house of chagrin Hath taught me that whosoever
With topers hath fallen out, Himself, in ill plight hath fallen;

Still seared is his heart at the last With a brand from that fire heart-consuming,
Which e'en on the wet and the dry, On bloom and on blight, hath fallen.

Alas for that speech-weighing bird! Waylaid of the highwayman Fancy
It was and in jeopardy's snare, Discernment despite, hath fallen.

Poor Hafiz, for whom is the tress Of the loveling become as a bridle,
A passing strange mate on his head Is this that alight hath fallen!