nature, with no thought of drawing a moral, or illustrating a tale. From
the times of Rudagi and the Samanide princes (tenth century), these
poets of sentiment sang their songs and charmed the ears of their
hearers. Even Firdusi showed, in some of his minor poems, that joyous
look into and upon the world which is the soul of all lyric poetry. But
of all the Persian lyric poets, Shams al-Din Mohammed Háfiz has been
declared by all to be the greatest. Though the storms of war and the
noise of strife beat all about his country and even disturbed the peace
of his native place--no trace of all this can be found in the poems of
Háfiz--as though he were entirely removed from all that went on about
him, though seeing just the actual things of life. He was, to all
appearance, unconcerned: glad only to live and to sing. At Shiraz he was
born; at Shiraz he died. Only once, it is recorded, did he leave his
native place, to visit the brother of his patron in Yezd. He was soon
back again: travel had no inducement for him. The great world outside
could offer him nothing more than his wonted haunts in Shiraz. It is
further said that he put on the garb of a Dervish; but he was altogether
free of the Dervish's conceit. "The ascetic is the serpent of his age"
is a saying put into his mouth.

He had in him much that resembled Omar Khayyám; but he was not a
philosopher. Therefore, in the East at least, his "Divan" is more
popular than the Quatrains of Omar; his songs are sung where Omar's name
is not heard. He is substantially a man of melody--with much mannerism,
it is true, in his melody--but filling whatever he says with a wealth of
charming imagery and clothing his verse in delicate rhythms. Withal a
man, despite his boisterous gladsomeness and his overflowing joy in what
the present has to offer, in whom there is nothing common, nothing low.
"The Garden of Paradise may be pleasant," he tells us, "but forget not
the shade of the willow-tree and the fair margin of the fruitful field."