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Comes Ramadan, the pleasant days are done,
And pious breath obscures the very sun;
Soon must the wine mope lonely in the jar,
And lovely women weary to be won.
This shall I do, and so preserve the fast:
To-night I drink so deep that I shall last,
Sunk in the strong oblivion of wine,
Till the whole forty evil days be passed.
Yet think not wine is wisdom for the fool,
'Tis but the wise should follow wisdom's rule;
The sot, the brawler, and the ugly-tongued—
Believe not these of gentle Khayyám's school.
This tavern-wisdom was not made for all,
The congregation of the great is small,
Drink not with every wine-flown Hatim Tai,
Nor lift thy cup to every noisy call.
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