That bitter, which the Súfi styled "Mother of all woes that be,"[8]
Seems, with maiden's kisses weighed, better and more sweet to me.
Seek drunkenness and pleasure till times of strait be o'er:
This alchemy of life can make the beggar Kore.[9]
Submit; or burn thou taper-like e'en from jealousy o'er-much:
Adamant no less than wax, melts beneath that charmer's touch.
When fair ones talk in Persian, the streams of life out-well:
This news to pious Pirs, my Sákí, haste to tell.
Since Háfiz, not by his own choice,
This his wine-stained cowl did win,
Shaikh, who hast unsullied robes,
Hold me innocent of sin.[10]
Arrayed in youthful splendor, the orchard smiles again;
News of the rose enraptures the bulbul of sweet strain.
Breeze, o'er the meadow's children, when thy fresh fragrance blows,
Salute for me the cypress, the basil, and the rose.
If the young Magian[11] dally with grace so coy and fine,
My eye shall bend their fringes to sweep the house of wine.
O thou whose bat of amber hangs o'er a moon below,[12]
Deal not to me so giddy, the anguish of a blow.
I fear that tribe of mockers who topers' ways impeach,
Will part with their religion the tavern's goal to reach.