Classic Poem

The rose is come and best in Spring abideth
That in thy hand, save wine, no thing abideth.

Seize thou the hour; drink wine amid the roses,
For but a week their blossoming abideth.

Use, use the time of pleasance, for not always
A pearl in every oysterling abideth.

Rare way of love, where he his head uplifteth,
With whom no head, for love-liking, abideth!

Leave books, an thou wilt be our fellow student,
For Love's lore not in book-learning abideth.

Give ear and set thy heart on one whose beauty
In need of no bedizening abideth.

Come to our winehouse, elder, and a nectar
Quaff, such as not in Kauther's spring abideth.

Thou, who fill'st gold with rubies, oh largesse him
With whom no gold, poor scatterling, abideth!

Grant me, o Lord, a draught without crop-sickness,
Wherein no headache for a sting abideth.

'Fore God, I have a silver-bodied idol;
In Terah's joss-house no such thing abideth.

With all my heart, I'm Shah Uwéis's bondman,
Of slaves unmindful though the King abideth.

The sun,—by his world-bright'ning cap I swear it,—
Than he less crown-embellishing abideth!

Those only carp and jibe at Hafiz' verses
In whom no grace of love-liking abideth.