| Why seek'st thou righteousness from us? To topers "Hither! Ho!" we say |
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| We're gone, thou knowest and my heart That's eaten up with care |
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| Place, save thy sill, for me beneath The firmament is not |
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| Be't remembered that my dwelling Erst thy door anigh was |
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| Away, companions, with the knots Of the Friend's tress make ye! |
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| Heart, for thy running-footman Let favouring fate suffice! |
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| Come, the cassock of the Soufi To the winehouse straight bear we |
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| Ballad of Ladies' Love, Number Two |
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| In the bigot seeming-holy Knowledge of our state is not |
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| The Morning of Fortune hath dawned: Where is the cup like the sun? |
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