In this world, where each breath we breathe leads to
a new sorrow, it is better never to breathe an instant
without a cup of wine in hand. When the breath of
Aurora makes itself felt, arise and, time after time, empty
the cup, for [as I have told you] this Dawn will breathe
for long, long years when we no longer breathe.
Should I commit all the sins of the universe, still Thy
pity, I dare believe, would extend its hand to me. Hast
Thou not promised to put off the day when I should be
a prey to my infirmities? [Accomplish Thy promise and
for that] exact not a state more frightful than that in
which Thou seest me at this moment.
If I am drunk with old wine, ah, well! I am. If I am
an infidel, fire worshipper or idolater, ah, well! that I am.
Each group of individuals forms some idea on my account.
But what matters it? I belong to myself and I
am what I am.
From the time since I am, I have not been for an instant
without drunkenness. This night is that of Kidr
and I this night am drunk; my lips are glued to that of
the cup and, leaning my breast against the jar, I have
held the neck of the flask in my hand until day.
I am constantly attracted by the sight of limpid wine,
my ears are ever attentive to the melodious sounds of
the flute and of the rubab [viol]. Oh, if the potter make
a pitcher of my dust, would that that pitcher might constantly
be full of wine!