Tavern Keeper, lo!--the moonrise on the fast of Ramazan!

Tavern Keeper, lo!--the moonrise on the fast of Ramazan!
Quick the cup here! For denial I’ll make up as best I can.

Precious days--alas!--are wasted! Now make up, I say, make up,
For the torturing time that’s vanished without joy, without the cup.

How can I burn on forever in repentance and grief’s fire?
Wine! Bring wine! Now let life burn on in the gold flame of desire.

Drunken make me, senseless, senseless,--that I may not ever know
From this picture-book of life here who has gone, who soon must go.

That the dregs within thy wine cup on my lips may keep their sweet,
In the Tavern morn and evening I pray for thee as is meet.

Tavern Keeper, lo!--the moonrise--on the fast of Ramazan!
Let the wine scent in my nostrils give me life again, good man!

Hypocrites are haughty hearted and their ways are full of sin,
But the pious drinker sometime place in Paradise will win.

All the coined gold my heart held did I give to purchase wine;
Wrong,--alas!--’twas--I regret it--all that wayward youth of mine.

Nay! Nay! Hafiz sits not under any preachment’s painful word;
He will never find the true path who from it has never erred.