" Friends, 'tis best that, in the rosetime, After ease and pleasance strain we. "
This, the Magian Elder's saying, In our heart and mind retain we!

Bounty faileth and mirth's season Fleeteth by; there's nothing for it
But, for wine the prayer-rug selling, That withal the patchcoat stain we.

'Tis a goodly air, joy-giving: Send us, Lord, a dainty loveling,
So the cup of wine rose-coloured, In her face's honour, drain we.

Waylayer of men of merit Is the organist of heaven:
Ask not, then, of this affliction Wherefore clamour and complain we.

All aglow with bloom the rose is, Nor a drop of wine we've cast on 't:
Hence afire with disappointment And with longing's heat remain we.

Far the evil eye! For drunken Are we without wine and minstrel:
From the tulip's cup of ruby Fancy's wine to tipple feign we!

Strange this case is! Of whom other, Hafiz, can be said that " Bulbuls
" Are we; yet in this the season Of the rose from song abstain we? "