Page:The Sacred Books and Early Literature of the East, Volume 08.djvu/59



These fools, by dint of ignorance most crass,

Think they in wisdom all mankind surpass;

And glibly do they damn as infidel

Whoever is not, like themselves, an ass.

Still be the wine-house thronged with its glad choir,

And Pharisaic skirts burnt up with fire;

Still be those tattered frocks and azure robes

Trod under feet of revelers in the mire.

Why toil ye to ensure illusions vain,

And good or evil of the world attain?

Ye rise like Zamzam, or the fount of life,

And, like them, in earth's bosom sink again.

Till the Friend pours his wine to glad my heart,

No kisses to my face will heaven impart:

They say, "Repent in time "; but how repent,

Ere Allah's grace hath softened my hard heart?

When I am dead, take me and grind me small,

So that I be a caution unto all,

And knead me into clay with wine, and then

Use me to stop the wine-jar's mouth withal.

What though the sky with its blue canopy

Doth close us in so that we can not see,

In the etern Cupbearer's wine methinks

There float a myriad bubbles like to me.