Page:The Sacred Books and Early Literature of the East, Volume 08.djvu/64



A draught of wine would make a mountain dance,

Base is the churl who looks at wine askance;

Wine is a soul our bodies to inspire,

A truce to this vain talk of temperance!

Oft doth my soul her prisoned state bemoan,

Eer earth-born co-mate she would fain disown,

And quit, did not the stirrup of the law

Upbear her foot from dashing on the stone.

The moon of Ramadan is risen, see!

Alas, our wine must henceforth banished be;

Well! on Sha'ban's last day I'll drink enough

To keep me drunk till Bairam's jubilee.

From life we draw now wine, now dregs to drink,

Now flaunt in silk, and now in tatters shrink;

Such changes wisdom holds of slight account

To those who stand on death's appalling drink!

What sage the eternal tangle e'er unraveled,

Or one short step beyond his nature traveled?

From pupils to the masters turn your eyes,

And see, each mother's son alike is graveled.

Crave not of worldly sweets to take your fill,

Nor wait on turn of fortune, good or ill;

Be of light heart, as are the skies above,

They roll a round or two, and then lie still.