In the days of the error-hiding, Transgression-pardoning king,
Took Muftis to cup- and Hafiz To flagon-emptying.

The Soufi from cloister-corner Sat at the wine-jar's foot,
Since high on the Mohtesib's shoulder He saw the pitcher swing.

At dawntide the wine-selling elder I questioned anent the case
Of Elder and Cadi, touching Their Jew-fashion wine-bibbing.

" Nay, bridle thy tongue, " he answered; " Drink wine and the veil respect;
" For even to thee, initiate, Behoveth not tell this thing. "

Spring is at hand and money Lacketh for wine; perpend,
Skinker; my heart's blood boileth For sorrow and wearying.

Accept my excuse and cover The fault with clemency's skirt;
The blame is with youth and poortith And love and the new-born Spring.

How long, like the candle, comrade, Wilt practise length of tongue?
Peace! Peace! For the moth of longing Already 's on the wing.

O sovran of sense and seeming, Whose like no eye hath seen
Nor ear of his equal heard hath, Still mayst thou live, o King,

Till that thy youthful fortune The patchcoat blue, in fine,
From heaven, that rag-clad elder, Shall take, inheriting!

A voice, last night, from the Viewless Unto my heart's ear said,
" Hafiz, drink wine and chew not The cud of sorrowing! "