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Who came forth to visit me, shrouding himself in the cloak of the night, And hastened his steps, as he wended, for caution and fear and affright!
Then rose I and laid in his pathway my cheek, as a carpet it were, For abjection, and trailed o’er my traces my skirts, to efface them from sight.
But, lo, the new moon rose and shone, like a nailparing cleft from the nail, And all but discovered our loves with the gleam of her meddlesome light;
And then there betideth between us what I’ll not discover, i’ faith; So question no more of the matter and deem not of ill or unright.
And gifted of God is he who saith:
The richest of mortals am I; In gladness rejoiceth my soul.
Liquid gold[1] without stint I possess, And I measure it out by the bowl.
And how goodly is the saying of the poet:
By Allah, there’s no alchemy, except in this it be, And all is false that they avouch of other alchemy!
Upon a hundredweight of woe a carat[2] pour of wine And straight it is transformed and changed to gladness and to glee.
And that of another:
The glasses, when we’er empty, are heavy; but forthright When with pure wine we fill them, unblent, they grow as light
As air and eke for transport they’re like to fly away; And bodies in like manner are lightened by the spright.
And yet another:
Wine and the cup to worship have claims more than can be said, Nor is it right in us to leave their claims unhonouréd.
Whenas I die, beside a vine I prithee bury me, So of its veins I still may drink, e’en after I am dead;
Yea, in the desert waterless, I charge you, lay me not, For sore after my death to taste no more of wine I dread.’
And he ceased not to incite him to drink, naming to
