Classic Poem

No account of thee thou writest, Past although is many a day:
Where's a trusty one who tidings Shall of us to thee convey?

To the lofty goal we aim at Nevermore may we attain,
Save thy favouring kindness meet us Many paces on the way.

Now the wine is in the flagon And the rose hath cast its veil,
Seize the moment of enjoyment, Drain the winecup, whilst ye may.

Sugar-candy, blent with roses, Is no balsam for our heart;
Give us kisses mixed with chiding; Bitter still with sweet allay.

Go from us in peace, o zealot, Lest, forsooth, the company
Of so many scurril topers Lead thee from the path astray.

Long enough at wine thou'st chidden; Of its virtues also tell:
Cast thou not the words of wisdom Off, for aught the dullards say.

Ho, ye beggars of the wineshop, Have a care ye rest no hope
On yon dunderheaded cattle; God's your only friend and stay.

Oh, how well the Magian Elder To his topers said, “The case
“Of the heart consumed with passion To the raw ones ne'er bewray!”

For thy sun-bright cheek with longing Hafiz burns. O happy fair,
Cast a glance on those who languish In the deserts of dismay!