Poem #137

She stole my heart and hid her face from view

for God's sake, with whom can one this game pursue?

In my lonely night, death sought my soul's end

but her memory came, infinite grace to lend.

Why should I not be bloody-hearted like the tulip red

for her narcissus eye turned heavy, and hope fled.

To whom can I tell this pain that burns my breath

my own physician sought my spirit's death.

I burned like a candle, melting in my fire

till the flask wept tears and the harp wailed in desire.

O Morning Breeze, if you have a cure, make haste

for longing's pain lays my poor soul to waste.

Among the kind, how can the tale be spun

of what our Friend has said, and what She has done.

The enemy did not strike Hafez's soul so low

as did the arrow from that arched eyebrow.