غزل شمارهٔ 1246

Last night I went into the midst of the assembly of my king; I saw my soul in a beaker in the hand of the saki.

I said to him, “O soul of the soul of the sakis, for God’s sake fill me a measure, and do not break your pledge.”

Smiling sweetly he said, “Noble sir, I do you service; I respect you by the right and respect of my faith.”

He brought a cup and kissed it and placed it in my hand, full of wine shining like his own shining cheeks.

I prostrated before him and drew the bowl to me; the wine lighted a fire in me from its own brazier.

When the saki had poured continuously and dispensed for me many glasses after that wise, that wine like red gold transported me to its own quarry.

I saw my garden fresh and gay with the rose of his cheek; I saw my bread well baked with his hyacinthine brow.

Let every man find his own fortune and portion in a tavern; who am I? I have found true sympathy to belong to me.

I saw B¯u Lahab there biting hard his hand, B¯u Huraira putting his hand in his own wallet;

B¯u Lahab was like the back (and no back sees the face), B¯u Huraira turning his face to his own moon and seventh heaven;

B¯u Lahab plunged in thought, seeking proof and demonstration, B¯u Huraira his own proof and his own demonstration.

Not every jar is suitable for wine; beware, stop up the jar, that the saki may produce another jar from his own cellar.

I make this enough, that the Prince of the Assembly may tell you the tale of his own myriad secret assemblies.