21
All that in life I love the best Is the sweet fever of Thy quest; The way is like an adder’s sting, Be not to thee my wayfaring.
Lo, Gabriel with naked heart Out of love’s bosom doth depart, Hopeful to catch a spark of fire From the vast flame of Thy desire.
Anon I rend my veil in twain, Yearning the vision to attain; Anon with unavailing sight I veil myself before Thy light.
Whether in quest of thee I go, Or at the last myself to know, Intellect, heart, sight—all astray Blindly the wander on Thy way.
22
The night grows late, the route is up, No need for saki now or cup; Pass me Thy goblet, friend of mine, I’ll pour thee the remaining wine.
Whoever from the golden bowl Quaffs the sweet poison of the soul, In my clay jar the bitter juice Is the sole antidote of use.
Lo, from my dust the sparks unspire: Whose spirit shall I set afire? ‘Twas wrong, to kindle in my breast This furnace of desire’s unrest!
Alas, the Western mind hath soiled The springs of knowledge undefiled; Stoic alike and Platonist Have shrouded all the world in mist.
‘Ah! I am poisoned’—hark, the cry Of the world’s heart ascendeth high; Reason replies lamentingly, ‘I know no charm, no remedy.’
Let it be priest, or beggar poor, King, or the slave that keeps his door, All seek success of merchandise Amid hypocrisy and lies.
The money changers in the mart Are blind of head, and black of heart; The brighter gleams my glowing gem, The meaner is its worth to them.
23
Saki, on my heart bestow Liquid flame with living glow; Let the resurrection day Dawn tremendous on my clay.
He, for one small grain of corn, Cast me to the earth in scorn; Pour one glass, and see me rise Glorified beyond the skies.
Give to love Thy liquor, then, Strong to loose the thighs of men; Toss the liquor’s sediments In the beaker of the sense.
Wisdom and philosophy Are a grievous load on me; Heavenly guide! Stretch out Thy hand, Lift my burden, let me stand.
If hot liquor proveth vain To illuminate the brain, Suffer me a second chance, Save me with Thy flashing glance.
Fear and hope are yet at odds In our banquet of the gods; Make us all in ignorance be Of the wheel of destiny!
24
The juice that maketh tulips spring Within the heart—a bumper bring, Saki! and let the April gust Scatter at will my body’s dust.
I drank the West’s enamelled bowl, And darkness settled o’er my soul; O give me sight to see the way And where I went so sore astray.
Upon the wave of every breeze Like chaff I turned as it might please; Tumultuous beats the heart of me With vain surmise; give certainty!
My spirit’s fretful small desire Glows wanly as a spark of fire; Give me desire of heart’s delight, A star to shine upon my night.
Thou gavest in my hand a pen Skilful to paint a king of men; Thou madest me a scribe; then give A tablet, that my creed may live!
25
Of every image that the heart Takes from the eye—I have no part; Perception weigheth not with me, I beg for pure reality.
Anon a touch of madness lies In the conventions of the wise; I come with collar torn, a fool, For all I went to wisdom’s school.
Anon I wrap me in the world, Anon about me ‘tis enfurled; Pass round the wine, and pass again, That I may break this tangled skein.
No Saki’s glance enchants me here, Nor any talk of love sincere; From Mullah’s board and Sufi’s feast I nothing gain but care increased.
‘Th time that they had much to do With me, Thy choice and favoured few: The desert was my upbringing; I fearless stride before the king.