Upon earth, no one presses to his heart a charmer with
cheeks of the tints of a rose without the time comes
that he feels the sting of the thorn. See the comb: before
it could caress the perfumed hair of the beauty, it
had to be cut into many teeth.
Would that I had constantly in my hand the juice of
the vine! Would that my love for these beautiful idols,
that are like houris, might never leave my heart! They
say to me: God has ordered you to renounce these things.
Oh! should He give me such a command, I would not
obey it. Far be the thought!
Behold, I must go, and life is saddened by my going; for,
out of a hundred precious pearls but one have I pierced.
Alas! thanks to the ignorance of men, a hundred thousand
things of deepest import yet remain unheard.
To-day the season smiles; 'tis neither hot nor cold. The
clouds have washed away the dust which dimmed the
roses; and nightingales seem whispering to the yellow
flowers that wine is balm for all.
The day when I shall know myself no more, and when
they will speak of me as of a fable, then I desire [do
I dare say it?] that my clay be made into a jar for wine
and destined to service at the tavern.