When the merry wine-sun rising in the cup begins to glow,

When the merry wine-sun rising in the cup begins to glow,
The cheeks of our Tavern Keeper all their tulip flowers show.

Then the amorous West Wind roughens Rose’s hyacinthine hair,
Because fields and meadows told him how fragrant she was and fair.

From this humble earthly table do you hope Oh! nevermore
To receive bread unless for it your heart’s blood you should outpour.

All laments o’er loss and loving sound alike to age and youth,
Yet a hundred books, I dare say, could not tell you all their truth.

If like Noah you brave the deluge, triumph o’er it, live it through,
Earth’s immortal joy of living will come back to dwell with you.

To the pearl of price your efforts never can find out the way;
To keep trying without favor is with folly long to stay.

If the East wind of thy favor should but once touch Hafiz’ grave,
His poor dust would rise in reverence and to thee a greeting wave.