Ode 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.