We shall sigh for Mosellay and weep the waves of Rocknabad.
Speak of wine and song and women; cease, I pray, to seek in vain,
What that mystery most mystic called to-morrow may contain.
String thy pearls and sing them, Hafiz, for from heaven’s golden bars
God has shed upon thy verses all the sweetness of the stars.
THE GRAVE OF OMAR-I-KHAYYAM.
I, named Nizami, child of Samarcand,
The holy place whose towers aspire to heaven,