Page:Quatrains of Omar Khayyam (tr. Whinfield, 1883).djvu/182

126 A draught of wine would make a mountain dance, Base is the churl who looks at wine askance; Wine is a soul our bodies to inspire, A truce to this vain talk of temperance!

Oft doth my soul her prisoned state bemoan, Her earth-born comate she would fain disown, And quit, did not the stirrup of the law Upbear her foot from dashing on the stone.

The moon of Ramazan is risen, see! Alas, our wine must henceforth banished be; Well! on Sha'bán's last day I'll drink enough To keep me drunk till Bairam's jubilee.