Ode 17

COMRADES, the morning breaks, the sun is up;
Over her pearly shoulder the shy dawn
Winds the soft floating mists of silver lawn;
Comrades, the morning cup! the morning cup!

With dew the tulip's cheek is dappled grey,
And from the ground sweet smells of morning rise,
The breeze blows softly out of Paradise;
Drink to the morning of another day!

The red rose sits upon her emerald throne,
The glittering grass about her feet is spread;
Wine, Saki, bright as fire, as rubies red!
Comrades, the morning cup, ere morn be flown!

What! they have shut the wine-house up again!
On such a morning closed the tavern door!
Great Opener of Doors, Thee we implore
Open it for us, for we knock in vain.

It is a wonderful and wicked thing
They at this season should the tavern close;
Drink shall we none the less—under the rose;
The Water of Life runs from this little spring.

Sikandar's* mirror is this magic cup;
In it the whole round world reflected lies;
'T is filled with pictures for anointed eyes;
'T is the World's wisdom thou art drinking up.

Under the red rose drinking the red wine,
In a red dawn, and kissing her red lips,
No honey-bee from such a flower sips—
No emperor lives such a life as mine.

Once more, O HAFIZ, dawns the morning cup,
Another day in which to seek her face!
Patience! the day will come, in some strange place,
When thy strong hands her veil at last lift up.