Alá yá! send the cup round

Alá yá!

send the Cup round! O Sáki! brim and send;

Love, which at first was easy, grows harder at the end;

For ache of what the Breeze brought from that musk-scented brow,

Those purple tangled tresses, hearts' blood is dropping now.

Well! dye the prayer-mat darker with wine, then; as 'tis bid;

Such solace of Love's stages from Magians is not hid;

But this stage, Best-Belovèd! is too long! when the bell

Calls to unpack the camels, by God! it will be well.

The Black Nights, and the fearful Wave, and whirpool wild of Fate; --

Oh, lightly-burdened ones ashore! what reck ye of our state?

Wending mine own way, unto woe and ill-fame I was brought;

How, in the loud Assemblies, could such high lore be taught?

If thou wilt find The Presence, Hafiz! why, seek it so!

This world or the Belovèd, choose one, and let one go!