Ode 105

WHO shall interpret the Beloved's hair!

So subtly caught, and coiled, and garlanded—

That maze, that glittering net, that shining snare;

Men of the true faith, and alike untrue,

Trapped in that cunning ambush on her head,

Are captive there—

'T is but a little for such hair to do.

Thy beauty, love, is just a miracle,

An innocent gift that heaven gave to thee;

But ah! the uses thou hast put it to

Are downright sorcery.

Thy lips breathe out such healing that the time

Of Jesus is come back, and dead men rise;

So long thy locks, so strong, thy lovers climb,

Holding thereby, safe into Paradise.

On thy dark eyes a hundred blessings rain!

Though at each look indeed a lover dies,

Touching thy lips he comes to life again.

O wonderful astrology of love!

Thou science deep as ocean, and as high

As the last lonely light in yonder sky;

Hidden within the compass of thy lore

All folly of earth, all wisdom of heaven above,

Saving the knowledge how to love no more.

It was that draught out of the cup of love

That sent me to this other cup of wine;

HAFIZ, thy heart is captive—O beware

Lest thou thy soul lose too, and she entwine

Even thy faith in God in her long hair.