298
THE QUATRAINS OF
444.
Winter is past, and spring-tide has begun,
Soon will the pages of life's book be done!
Well saith the sage, "Life is a poison rank,
And antidote, save grape-juice, there is none."
445.
Beloved, if thou a reverend Molla be.
Quit saintly show, and feigned austerity,
And quaff the wine that Murtaza purveys.
And sport with Houris 'neath some shady tree!
446.
Last night I dashed my cup against a stone.
In a mad drunken freak, as I must own,
And lo! the cup cries out in agony,
"You too, like me, shall soon be overthrown."
444. C. L. N. A. I. J.
445. N. Note the change from the imperative to the aorist. In line 4 scan Murtăzáshă. Murtaza (Ali) is the celestial cupbearer.
