Not I first drained the jar where rev'lers pass away:[28]
Heads in this work-yard are nought else than wine-jars' clay.
Meseems thy comb has wreathed those locks which amber yield:
The gale has civet breathed, and amber scents the field.
Flowers of verdant nooks be strewn before thy face:
Let cypresses of brooks bear witness to thy grace!
When dumb grow tongues of men that on such love would dwell,
Why should a tongue-cleft pen by babbling strive to tell?
Thy cheek is in my heart; no more will bliss delay;
Glad omens e'er impart news of a gladder day.
Love's fire has dropped its spark
In Háfiz' heart before:
The wild-grown tulip's mark
Branded of old its core.[29]
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.