Rose And Nightingale

I walked within a garden fair
At dawn, to gather roses there;
When suddenly sounded in the dale
The singing of thee nightingale.

Alas, he loved a rose, like me
And he, too loved in agony;
Tumbling upon the mead the sent
The cataract of his lament.

With sad and meditative pace
I wandered in that flowery place,
And thought upon the tragic tale
Of love and rose, and nightingale
The rose was lovely, as I tell;

The nightingale he loved her well;
He with no other love could live,
And she no kindly word would give.

Think not, O Hafiz, any cheer
To gain of fortune's wheeling sphere
Fate has a thousand turns of ill,
And never a tremor of good will.