Winter is past, and spring-tide has begun,
Soon will the pages of life's book be done!
Well saith the sage, «Life is a poison rank,
And antidote, save grape-juice, there is none.»
Beloved, if thou a reverend Molla be,
Quit saintly show, and feigned austerity,
And quaff the wine that Murtaza purveys,
And sport with Houris 'neath some shady tree!
445. N. Note the change from the imperative to the aorist. In line 4 scan Murtazasha. Murtaza (Ali) is the celestial cupbearer.
Last night I dashed my cup against a stone,
In a mad drunken freak, as I must own,
And lo! the cup cries out in agony,
«You too, like me, shall soon be overthrown.»
446. C. L. N. A. B. I. Saboyiy, ya i batni, joined to the noun by euphonic or conjunctive ya.
My heart is weary of hypocrisy,
Cupbearer, bring some wine, I beg of thee!
This hooded cowl and prayer-mat pawn for wine,
Then will I boast me in security.