XXII
Veiled in my heart my fervent love for him dwells,
And my true eye holds forth a glass to his spells.
Though the two worlds ne'er bowed my head when elate,
Favors as his have bent my neck with their weight.
Thine be the lote, but I Love's stature would reach.
High like his zeal ascends the fancy of each.
Yet who am I that sacred temple to tread?
Still let the East that portal guard in my stead!
Spots on my robe—shall they arouse my complaint?
Nay! the world knows that he at least has no taint.
My turn has come; behold! Majnún is no more;[26]
Five days shall fly, and each one's turn shall be o'er.
Love's ample realm, sweet joy, and all that is glad,
Save for his bounty I should never have had.[27]
I and my heart—though both should sacrificed be,
Grant my friend's weal, their loss were nothing to me.
Ne'er shall his form within my pupil be dim,
For my eye's cell is but a chamber for him.
All the fresh blooms that on the greensward we view,
Gain but from him their scent and beauty of hue.
Háfiz seems poor;
But look within, for his breast,
Shrining his love,
With richest treasure is blest.