If it be granted me of Fate With yonder charmer to foregather,
Wine from joy's cup I'll drink, the rose From union's garden will I gather.

The bitter, Soufi-madd'ning wine Will undermine my life's foundation;
Thy lip to mine, cupbearer, set And take my life with kisses rather.

Methinks, I shall go mad for love Of thee; for all night long, till morning,
I commerce with the moon and see Peris on sleep in heaven's weather.

Thy lip to drunkards sugar gives, And thine eye wine unto the drinkers;
But I, divorced from all delight, Forbidden am to share with either.

Straight, on the night of death, from couch To Houris' palace shall I wing it,
So by my pillow then thou be A lamp to light my spirit thither.

Bethink thee of thy servant old And of his case have recollection;
Since of thy bounty's overflow's Each grain of dust the wind brings hither.

Not every one acceptance finds, Of all who ply the craft of versing;
The pheasant rare 'tis I that take; For swift my falcon is of feather.

An thou believe it not, go ask The painter of Cathay; for Mani
Himself the pictures envieth That of my pen are put together.

" Good morrow! " Hark, the bulbul cries. " Where art thou, skinker? Up! Be stirring!
" For still there clamoureth in my head The ghittern's yestereven blether.

" From me (not Hafiz) hearken ye The mysteries of Love and toping;
" For every night with stars and moon, O'er cup and goblet, I foregather. "

Truth and good faith are not the wont Of all: the servant of the Vizier
Jelal-ed-din am I, the time's Asef and eke the people's father.