Page:The Sacred Books and Early Literature of the East, Volume 08.djvu/36



Young wooer, charm all hearts with lover's art,

Glad winner, lead thy paragon apart!

A hundred Kaabas equal not one heart,

Seek not the Kaaba, rather seek a heart!

What time, my cup in hand, its draughts I drain,

And with rapt heart unconsciousness attain,

Behold what wondrous miracles are wrought---

Songs flow as water from my burning brain.

To-day is but a breathing space, quaff wine!

Thou wilt not see again this life of thine;

So, as the world becomes the spoil of time,

Offer thyself to be the spoil of wine!

'Tis we who to wine's yoke our necks incline,

And risk our lives to gain the smiles of wine;

The henchman grasps the flagon by its throat

And squeezes out the life-blood of the vine.

Here in this tavern-haunt I make my lair,

Pawning for wine, heart, soul, and all I wear,

Without a hope of bliss, or fear of bale,

Rapt above water, earth, and fire, and air.

Quoth fish to duck, "Twill be a sad affair,

If this brook leaves its channel dry and bare ";

To whom the duck, "When I am dead and roasted

The brook may run with wine for aught I care. "