I painted thine ideal face till morning's light,
Upon the studio of my eye, deprived of sleep at night.
My Sákí took at this sweet strain the wine-bowl up:
I sang to him these verses first; then drank to sparkling cup.
If any of my bird-like thoughts from joy's branch flew,
Back from the springes of thy lock their fleeting wings I drew.
The time of Háfiz passed in joy:
To friends I brought
For fortune and the days of life
The omens that they sought.
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.