From the Persian. H.G. Keene
In: Temple Bar, Vol. 119, Nr. 473. London : Macmilland and Co., 1900.

To drink, to bask in Beauty’s love-lit eyes,
Surpasses prayer and fulsome sacrifice;
If Hell were filled with souls of wine and love,
Who would desire to dwell in Paradise?

For we have bowed our heads to wine’s decrees,
To the cup’s pouting lip free hostages;
The Drawer’s hand is on the flagon’s neck,
And the cup smiles, to call life from her lees.

With revelry in this poor hovel of mud
We have pledged for drink our raiment, flesh, and blood,
Freed from the hope of heaven or fear of hell,
Careless of air, of earth, of fire, of flood.

A day—two breaths to breathe in maduess fine—
A life—once spent it will no more be mine—
The world, we know, is hastening to be lost,
Let us too, night and day, be lost in wine.

As on a tablet written our lives are plain
Traced by a pencil free from joy or pain;|
What Fate has fixed esteem a just award,”
For grief and struggle both alike are vain.

Since Life eludes the longings of the heart,
Ah! what avails the struggle or the smart?
Seated beside the waters of regret,
We came too early, and too late depart.

Ah! darling, chosen of the world to me!
Eyesight and marrow of the soul to me!
Nothing is dearer to a man than life,
Yet dearer far than life art thou to me.

There is no heart but bleeds, away from thee,
Thy charms bewilder him who can but see,
And though thou carest not for any one,
There is not any one but cares for thee.

The Temple and the Shrine are built for praise,
The chiming church-bells sound a song of praise;
Mosque and cathedral, rosary and cross,
Are all so many instruments of praise.

Of sin remembered why should man complain?
Why should it cause him more or less of pain?
Knows not of mercy he who knows no sin,
And, but for sin, all mercy would be vain.