Page:The Sacred Books and Early Literature of the East, Volume 08.djvu/102



Bulbuls, doting on roses, oft complain

How froward breezes rend their veils in twain;

Sit we beneath this rose, which many a time

Has sunk to earth, and sprung from earth again.

Suppose the world goes well with you, what then?

When life's last page is read and turned, what then?

Suppose you live a hundred years of bliss,

Yea, and a hundred years besides, what then?

How is it that of all the leafy tribe,

Cypress and lily men as "free " describe?

This has a dozen tongues, yet holds her peace,

That has a hundred hands which take no bribe.

Cupbearer, bring my wine-cup, let me grasp it!

Bring that delicious darling, let me grasp it!

That pleasing chain which tangles in its coils

Wise men and fools together, let me grasp it!

Alas! my wasted life has gone to wrack!

What with forbidden meats, and lusts, alack!

And leaving undone what 'twas right to do,

And doing wrong, my face is very black!

I could repent of all, but of wine, never!

I could dispense with all, but with wine, never!

If so be I became a Mussulman,

Could I abjure my Magian wine? no, never!