rning for mountains and the barren
plain,
Yet loath art thou to yield to pity, and loosen at mid-height my chain.

If the ant casts reproach on Asaf, with justice does her tongue upbraid,
For when his Highness lost Jem's signet, no effort for the quest he
made.[25]

No constancy--yet grieve not, Hafiz--
Expect thou from the faithless fair;
What right have we to blame the garden,
Because the plant has withered there?

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! Majnun 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.

Hafiz seems poor;
But look within, for his breast,
Shrining his love,
With richest treasure is blest.

XXIII

Prone at my friend's high gates, my Will its head lays still:
Whate'er my head awaits is ordered by that will.

My friend resembles none; in vain I sought to trace,
In glance of moon or sun, the radiance of that face.

Can morning's breeze make known what grief this heart doth hold,
Which as a bud hath grown, compressed by fold on fold?

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