Ode 74

LOVE is a sea that hath not any shore,
And help upon that shoreless sea is none;
Who sails it sets his eyes on land no more;
Yet gladly am I on that voyage gone—
For ah! how good it is to sail that sea!
What though the longest trip at last be o'er,
What though the proudest vessel must go down,
My love is on the same big ship with me,
And when she drowns, I drown.


Talk not of reason to a man in love,
Nor pit thy arguments against good wine;
Love has a wisdom widom cannot prove—
Reason knows nothing of the things divine.

The happy heart can find its happy way,
Nor its direction need of any ask;
I charge thee fill each moment of the day
With love, as wine fills to the neck the flask.

Watch how the Saki brims our glasses up—
So fill thy cup with living strong and deep:
Leave not a dreg for death within the cup,
For no man goes on drinking in his sleep.

None but pure eyes may see the face I love,
Scarcely discernible, as the young moon
That like a spirit yonder walks above
The sleeping trees with little silver shoon.

Ask not who HAFIZ slew—ask but thine eyes!
Nor yet the blame on heaven or fortune lay;
Would I were certain that the dead shall rise,
Then would I come again for thee to slay.

I marvel at the hardness of thy heart;
Strong stone is not so cold as its stern core,
And the old rocks are softer than thou art:
But at the love that loves thee I marvel more.