Page:The Sacred Books and Early Literature of the East, Volume 08.djvu/34



When I am dead, with wine my body lave,

For obit chant a bacchanalian stave,

And, if you need me at the day of doom,

Beneath the tavern threshold seek my grave.

Since no one can assure thee of the morrow,

Rejoice thy heart to-day, and banish sorrow

With moonbright wine, fair moon, for heaven's moon

Will look for us in vain on many a morrow.

Let lovers all distraught and frenzied be,

And flown with wine, and reprobates, like me;

When sober, I find everything amiss,

But in my cups cry, "Let what will be, be."

In Allah's name, say, wherefore set the wise

Their hearts upon this house of vanities?

Whene'er they think to rest them from their toils,

Death takes them by the hand, and says, "Arise."

Men say the Koran holds all heavenly lore,

But on its pages seldom care to pore;

The lucid lines engraven on the bowl---

That is the text they dwell on evermore.

Blame not the drunkards, you who wine eschew,

Had I but grace, I would abstain like you,

And mark me, vaunting zealot, you commit

A hundredfold worse sins than drunkards do.