CLVII
Come, Súfi, let us from our limbs the dress that's worn for cheat Draw:
Let us a blotting line right through this emblem of deceit
Draw.
The convent's revenues and alms we'd sacrifice for wine awhile,
And through the vintry's fragrant flood this dervish-robe of guile
Draw.
Intoxicated, forth we'll dash, and from our feasting foe's rich stores
Bear off his wine, and then by force his charmer out of doors
Draw.
Fate may conceal her mystery, shut up within her hiding pale,
But we who act as drunken men will from its face the veil
Draw.
Here let us shine by noble deeds, lest we at last ashamed appear,
When starting for the other world, we hence our spirit's gear
Draw.
To-morrow at Rizván's green glade, should they refuse to make it ours,
We from their halls will the ghilmán, the houris from their bowers
Draw.
Where can we see her winking brow, that we, as the new moon of old,
At once may the celestial ball, as with a bat of gold,
Draw?
O Háfiz! it becomes us not
Our boastful claims thus forth to put:
Beyond the limits of our rug
Why would we fain our foot
Draw?