The merchant hath stuffs of price,
And gems from the sea-washed strand,
And princes offer me grace
To stay in the Syrian land;

But what is gold _for_, but for gifts?
And dark, without love, is the day;
And all that I see in Bagdat
Is the Tigris to float me away.



FROM HAFIZ

I said to heaven that glowed above,
O hide yon sun-filled zone,
Hide all the stars you boast;
For, in the world of love
And estimation true,
The heaped-up harvest of the moon
Is worth one barley-corn at most,
The Pleiads' sheaf but two.



If my darling should depart,
And search the skies for prouder friends,
God forbid my angry heart
In other love should seek amends.