Yestereven, one keen-witted, Myst'ry-knowing, said to me,
" Hid one may not hold the secret Of the wine-seller from thee. "

" Lightly, " said he, " bear life's burdens; For the fashion of the world
" Is that hard on the hard-striving Presseth it and heavily. "

Then a goblet such he gave me That its brightness in the skies
Venus brought to dance and smiting Hand on ghittern, " Drink! " cried she.

Lend, my son, thine ear to counsel; For the world's sake sorrow not;
Pearls of price, God wot, my rede is: Keep it in thy memory.

Like the cup, with heart a-bleeding, Ever show a laughing lip,
Nor, the harp like, into clamour Break, if smitten thou shouldst be.

Till adept thou be, no inkling Of Love's myst'ry shalt thou hear;
Ears profane are no receivers For the angels' melody.

In Love's sanctuary one must not Breathe a word of " Say-and-hear; "
Lovers all must there be only Ears to hear and eyes to see.

At the feast of men of insight Out of place is idle prate;
Either speak of what thou knowest, Man of sense, or silent be.

Skinker, wine! For Hafiz' toping Hath the Vizier of the King
Blemish-hiding, sin-remitting, Covered up with his decree.