Page:The Sacred Books and Early Literature of the East, Volume 08.djvu/68



At dawn, when dews bedeck the tulip's face,

And violets their heavy heads abase,

I love to see the roses' folded buds,

With petals closed against the wind's disgrace.

Like as the skies rain down sweet jessamine,

And sprinkle all the meads with eglantine,

Right so, from out this jug of violet hue,

I pour in lily cups this rosy wine.

Ah! thou hast snared this head, though white as snow,

Which oft has vowed the wine-cup to forego;

And wrecked the mansion long resolve did build,

And rent the vesture penitence did sew!

I am not one whom Death doth much dismay,

Life's terrors all Death's terrors far outweigh;

This life, that Heaven hath lent me for a while,

I will pay back, when it is time to pay.

The stars, who dwell on heaven's exalted stage,

Baffle the wise diviners of our age;

Take heed, hold fast the rope of mother wit.

These augurs all distrust their own presage.

The people who the heavenly world adorn,

Who come each night, and go away each morn,

Now on Heaven's skirt, and now in earth's deep pouch,

While Allah lives, shall aye anew be born!