Yon meddler, at me who for love And toping outcry maketh,
The mysteries of the Unseen E'en bold to deny maketh.

Regard thou the myst'ries of Love's Perfection and not sin's blemish:
The meritless man his sole aim Defects to descry maketh.

The cupbearer's glances the path Of Islam waylay on such fashion
That none, save he be a Suhéib, O' the grape-juice red fie maketh.

There breatheth abroad in the land The scent of the Houris of Heaven,
When she of our winehouse's dust The scent of her ply maketh.

Th' approof of the noble's the key Of the treasure of happiness; marry,
There's none who this certitude bold To doubt or belie maketh.

The shepherd of Wadi Eimén Attaineth his wish, who his business
With heart and soul Jethro to serve, Till years have gone by, maketh.

When Hafiz to tell of the time Of youth and of elderhood's season
Beginneth, his tale tears of blood To drop from each eye maketh.