'Tis fled: may memory sweetly mind me of Union's days!
Where is that voice of anger, where those coquettish ways?
Can a foe's heart be kindled by the friend's face so bright?
Where is a lamp unlighted, and the clear Day-star's light?
As dust upon thy threshold supplies my eyes with balm,
If I forsake thy presence, where can I hope for calm?
Turn from that chin's fair apple; a pit is on the way.
To what, O heart, aspir'st thou? Whither thus quickly? Say!
Seek not, O friend, in Háfiz
Patience, nor rest from care:
Patience and rest—what are they?
Where is calm slumber, where?
XIV
At eve a son of song—his heart be cheerful long!—
Piped on his vocal reed a soul-inflaming lay.
So deeply was I stirred, that melody once heard,
That to my tearful eyes the things of earth grew gray.
With me my Sákí was, and momently did he
At night the sun of Daï[16] by lock and cheek display.
When he perceived my wish, he filled with wine the bowl;
Then said I to that youth whose track was Fortune's way: