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And sometimes in the nodding afternoon,
When all is listening-still and half-a-swoon,
Sudden one lifts a shining startled face,—
Hark! 'tis the magic bird, the magic tune!
Drunkards! so be it—yet, if all were wise,
All would be drunk like us, with dreaming eyes:
Poor sober world, so doleful all the day,
Leave mosque and mart, and join our Paradise.
There are no sorrows wine cannot allay,
There are no sins wine cannot wash away,
There are no riddles wine knows not to read,
There are no debts wine is too poor to pay.
Would you forget a woman, drink red wine;
Would you remember her, then drink red wine!
Is your heart breaking just to see her face?
Gaze deep within this mirror of red wine.
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