Oh! would to God that there existed some place of repose—that
the road we follow had some settled end!
Would God that, after a hundred thousand years, we
could conceive the hope of one new birth of heart upon
the earth as the green turf is born again!
While I was drawing a horoscope in the book of love,
suddenly, from the burning heart of a wise man came
these words. Happy is he who entertains in his dwelling
a friend as beautiful as the moon, and who has in prospect
a night as long as a year!
The constant sequence of springtime and autumn makes
the leaves of our existence disappear. Drink wine, my
friend, for sages have well said that grief in this world
is a poison and its antidote is wine.
O my heart! drink of wine, drink of it in a garden
and enjoy the presence of thy friend [the Divinity]; renounce
hypocrisy and show. Is it the doctrine of Ahmed
you follow? In that case, draw from the fountain-head
a cup of wine into the bowl which Ali, in his round of
cupbearing, shall serve.
But yesterday, at eve, I broke a china cup against a
stone. I was drunk when committing this senseless act.
This cup seemed to say to me: «I have been like thee;
thou wilt, in thy turn, be like me.»