Wind of the East, to yonder Graceful gazelle go say,
" Lo, to the waste and the mountain Castest thou us away! "

Harkye, o sugar-seller! Why (May thy life be long!)
Askest thou not of the parrot, The chewer of sugar, aye?

Whenas thou sitt'st with the Lov'd One And measurest out the wine,
Think of the luckless lovers Who measure the wind of the way.

Haply, conceit of beauty Forbiddeth thee, o rose,
To ask of the frenzied bulbul, That pineth on the spray.

With fair and seemly fashions Are men of insight caught:
No bird of wit and knowledge With toils and snares take they.

Wherefore faith's fashion is not In those of cypress-shape,
Black eyes and moonbright faces, I know not, welladay!

Save in this much, thy beauty Is flawless, that the use
Of love and faith pertaineth Not to the fair-faced may

In thanks for fortune's favours And friends' companionship,
Be mindful of the exiles In plain and waste that stray.

What wonder if in heaven Messiah's self to dance
Be stirred by Zuhreh's singing Of Hafiz' dulcet lay?