Since life so soon slips away, what matters it whether
it be sweet or bitter? Since the soul must pass through
the lips, what matters whether it be at Nishapur or at
Balkh? Drink then of wine, for after thee and me, the
moon will long pass on from its last quarter to its first,
and from the first to last.
This caravan of life passes in curious guise! Be on thy
guard, my friend, for it is joy that thus escapes! Disturb
not thyself with the sorrow which to-morrow waits
our friends, and bring me my cup quickly, for the night
fast slips away!
He who has made the foundations of the world, the
wheel of the heavens, how He has crucified the heart of
man with affliction! How many ruby-colored lips has He
buried in this little globe of earth! How many locks of
hair perfumed with musk has He hidden in the bosom of
the dust!
O careless men! be not duped by this world, since
you know its pursuits. Throw not to the wind your
precious lives; hasten to seek a friend [God], and quickly
drink of wine.
O my companions! pour me some wine and thus
change my face, from yellow as amber, to the color of
the ruby. When I am dead, lave me in wine, and of
the wood of the vine make my coffin and bier.