XXV
Breeze of the morn, if hence to the land thou fliest—Of my friend,
Return with a musky breath from the lock so sweet
Of my friend.
Yea, by that life, I swear I would lay down mine in content,
If once I received through thee but a message sent
Of my friend.
But—at that sacred court, if approach be wholly denied,
Convey, for my eyes, the dust that the door supplied
Of my friend.
I—but a beggar mean—can I hope for Union at last?
Ah! would that in sleep I saw but the shadow cast
Of my friend.
Ever my pine-cone heart, as the aspen trembling and shy,
Has yearned for the pine-like shape and the stature high
Of my friend.
Not at the lowest price would my friend to purchase me care;
Yet I, a whole world to win, would not sell one hair
Of my friend.
How should this heart gain aught,
Were its gyves of grief flung aside?
I, Háfiz, a bondsman, still
Would the slave abide
Of my friend.