BOOK OF HAFIS.
SPIRIT let us bridegroom call,And the word the bride;Known this wedding is to allWho have Hafis tried.
THE UNLIMITED.
THAT thou can't never end, doth make thee great, And that thou ne'er beginnest, is thy fate.
Thy song is changeful as yon starry frame, End and beginning evermore the same;And what the middle bringeth, but contains What was at first, and what at last remains.
Thou art of joy the true and minstrel-source, From thee pours wave on wave with ceaseless force.
A mouth that's aye prepared to kiss,A breast whence flows a loving song, A throat that finds no draught amiss,An open heart that knows no wrong.
And what though all the world should sink!
Hafis, with thee, alone with theeWill I contend! joy, misery,The portion of us twain shall be;Like thee to love, like thee to drink,--
This be my pride,--this, life to me!
Now, Song, with thine own fire be sung,--For thou art older, thou more young!
1817.*
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