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; 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.

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.