Classic Poem

Hark to the harp and the ghittern, What notification they make;
" In secret drink wine, lest in public Of thee reprobation they make. "

The honour of Love and the glory Of lovers they ravish away;
Youth sorry with chiding and manhood With vilification they make.

Quoth they, " Speak ye not of Love's myst'ries Nor hearken to speech thereof. "
Nay, marry, it is a hard saying, Whereof promulgation they make!

Withoutside the door of the Loved One, We're gulled with an hundred deceits:
I wonder, behind the dark curtain, What rare machination They make!

They harass the Magian Elder, These pestilent devotees:
Of the life of the Sage of the tavern Lo! what tribulation they make!

An hundredfold fashions of honour With half of a glance may be bought;
But alack for the fair! To this traffic But small application they make.

Some folk, for the Loved One's attainment, In stress and endeavour confide;
For others, their hope and reliance On Foreordination they make.

I rede thee, no trust in th' endurance Of Fortune unstable put thou;
For Time and the world are the workshops Where change and mutation They make.

There's nought here to get but base coinage, And yet fools conceit them that still
The philosopher's stone in this hostel Of woe and vexation They make!

Drink wine, then; for, Elder and Hafiz And Mufti and Mohtesib all,
If thou look at it closely, a practice Of falsification they make.