Whenas the East wind waveth Her ambergris-shedding tress,
New life unto all it bringeth Who languish in durésse.

Oh, where is a like-souled comrade, That I may show him what
My heart, in the days of her absence, Doth suffer of distress?

The courier of morn a letter Faith-promising bore to the Friend:
Our eye-blood its superscription Did for a seal impress.

Time erst of the rose-leaves fashioned The counterpart of thy cheek,
But, seeing thee, straight in the rosebud Hid it for shamefastness.

Lo, thou art asleep, nor limit To Love apparent is.
Now blessed be God from this pathway, Whose length is limitless!

It is as the Kaabeh's beauty To pilgrims itself excused
That true lovers' souls in its desert Are lost without redress.

News of our heart's lost Joseph, Out of the pit of her chin,
Who bringeth this shattered dweller In th' house of heaviness?

Into the hand of the Vizier, That so of its fraud and guile
Maybe he shall do me justice, I give the tip of her tress.

At dawn, on the marge of the meadows, I heard from the nightingale
A ditty of sweet-voiced Hafiz, The bard of allegresse.