Ode 493

WHAT hast thou done! Thrown thus thy virgin shame

Upon the winds! With naked eyes on fire,

Forth from the house, veil-less, I saw thee run,

And hot desire

Burned in thy maiden cheeks, and drunken flame;

The East Wind made a wanton of thy hair:

O little love, what is it thou hast done?

And thou so fair!

To think that thou art anybody's girl

That dares to cast lascivious eyes on thee!

Thou such a queen! The very beggars now

Can mock at me,

Who might not even touch the tender curl

Upon thy head. Ah! that mysterious zone,

And all that fragrant treasure that was thou,

Quite common grown.

We all played for thee, with our hearts for dice;

Tricked are we all. O stone that seemed a heart,

Will thou be stone forever? Come what may,

To me thou art

All beauty still, which whoso dreams he buys

More foolish is than HAFIZ, when he thought

To buy with love. Ah! let the dotards pay—

Thou art not bought.