Page:The Sacred Books and Early Literature of the East, Volume 08.djvu/107



Winter is past, and spring-tide has begun,

Soon will the pages of life's book be done!

Well saith the sage, "Life is a poison rank,

And antidote, save grape-juice, there is none. "

Beloved, if thou a reverend Mullah be,

Quit saintly show, and feigned austerity,

And quaff the wine that Murtaza purveys,

And sport with Houris 'neath some shady tree!

Last night I dashed my cup against a stone,

In a mad drunken freak, as I must own,

And lo! the cup cries out in agony,

"You too, like me, shall soon be overthrown."

My heart is weary of hypocrisy,

Cupbearer, bring some wine, I beg of thee!

This hooded cowl and prayer-mat pawn for wine,

Then will I boast me in security.

Audit yourself, your truce account to frame,

See! you go empty, as you empty came;

You say, "I will not drink and peril life,"

But, drink or no, you must die all the same!

Open the door ! O entrance who procurest,

And guide the way, O Thou of guides the surest!

Directors born of men shall not direct me,

Their counsel comes to naught, but Thou endurest!