For Thee I vow to cast repute away,
And, if I shrink, the penalty to pay;
Though life might satisfy Thy cruelty,
'Twere naught, I'll bear it till the judgment-day!
In Being's rondure do we stray belated,
Our pride of manhood humbled and abated;
Would we were gone! long since have we been wearied
With this world's griefs, and with its pleasures sated.
The world is false, so I'll be false as well,
And with bright wine, and gladness ever dwell!
They say, «May Allah grant thee penitence!»
He grants it not, and, did he, I'd rebel!