Classic Poem

Drinking and mirth in secret, Things without base are they:
Cast we our lot with the topers, Come of it come what may!

Care's knot from the heart-strings loosen Nor reck of the course of the sphere;
For never geometer's science A knot such as this loosed aye.

Ne'er marvel at fortune's changes; For tales by the million, such
As these, could the sphere of heaven Recall, if it chose to say.

The wine-pot with rev'rence handle; For know 'twas the dust of the skulls
Of Jem and Kobad and Behman, Whereof they fashioned its clay.

Where Kei and Kawous have vaded, Who knoweth? And who can tell
How Jemshid his throne passed under The storm-blast of decay?

The lip of Shirin regretting, I see it, from out the blood
Of th' eyes of Ferhad, the tulip Yet blossometh to day.

Come let us with wine dead drunken And ruined awhile become!
Mayhap in this place of ruins A treasure find we may.

Meseemeth the tulip knoweth The faithlessness of Fate;
For never from hand, whilst living, The wine-cup doth she lay.

The breeze of the earth of Musella And water of Ruknabad
Me never as yet have suffered To travel far away.

My soul what befell her sorrow Of love for the fair befell;
Yet ne'er may Time's eye of evil Smite on her soul, I pray!

The goblet, like Hafiz, take not, Except to the ghittern's wail;
For lo! the glad heart to music's Silk cordlet bound have They.