330
When Death shall tread me down upon the plain,
And pluck my feathers, and my life-blood drain,
Then mold me to a cup, and fill with wine;
Haply its scent will make me breathe again.
331
So far as this world's dealings I have traced,
I find its favors shamefully misplaced;
Allah be praised! I see myself debarred
From all its boons, and wrongfully disgraced.
332
'Tis dawn! my heart with wine I will recruit,
And dash to bits the glass of good repute;
My long-extending hopes I will renounce,
And grasp long tresses, and the charming lute.
333
Though I had sinned the sins of all mankind,
I know Thou would'st to mercy be inclined;
Thou sayest, "I will help in time of need."
One needier than I where wilt Thou find?
334
Am I a wine-bibber? What if I am?
Gueber or infidel? Suppose I am?
Each sect miscalls me, but I heed them not,
I am my own, and, what I am, I am.
335
All my life long from drink I have not ceased.
And drink I will to-night on Sadr's feast:
And throw my arms about the wine-jar's neck,
And kiss its lip, and clasp it to my breast!
