By the Vizier's soul and the ancient right And the covenant firm I swear,
My wont in the dawn for thy happiness Is still to offer prayer!

My tears, that Noah his flood surpass, From the tablet of my heart
A vail not to wash the script of love For thee that's graven there.

Come, traffic with me and buy this heart; For, broken though it be,
An hundred thousand hearts 'tis worth, Unworn of love and care.

Blame thou me not for debauchery; For Love, the Pilgrim's guide,
The tavern, upon Creation day, Appointed me to share.

For truth endeavour, that from thy soul The sun may still be born:
The first of the dawn, for truthlessness, A blackened face must wear.

I rede thee, o heart, despair thou not Of the boundless grace of the Friend
An thou boast thee of lovership, quick, come stake Thy head for the love of the fair.

A madman of mountain and waste am I, On thine account, become;
Yet loosest thou not the girdle-chain That I for thee must bear.

The tongue of the ant was loosed in blame 'Gainst Asef; and meet it was;
For Solomon's signet-ring he lost And sought it not whilere.

Nay, fret not, Hafiz, nor constancy Seek from heart-ravishers:
What fault of the garden is it, trow, If this herb spring not there?