I said: "O thou, whose lock so night-black is evening in the
stranger's sight,
Be heedful if, at break of morning, the stranger sorrow for his
plight."
"Háfiz," the answer was, "familiars
Stand in amaze at my renown;
It is no marvel if a stranger
In weariness and grief sit down."
XVII
'Tis morn; the clouds a ceiling make:
The morn-cup, mates, the morn-cup take!
Drops of dew streak the tulip's cheek;
The wine-bowl, friends, the wine-bowl seek
The greensward breathes a gale divine;
Drink, therefore, always limpid wine.
The Flower her emerald throne displays:
Bring wine that has the ruby's blaze
Again is closed the vintner's store,
"Open, Thou Opener of the door!"[20]
While smiles on us the season's boon,
I marvel that they close so soon.
Thy lips have salt-rights, 'tis confessed,
O'er wounds upon the fire-burnt breast.