Ode 207

O, I 'VE good news for you—the spring, the spring!

The blessed grass is green for one more year,

And all is piping sweet and busy wing;

Wild nightingales and roses everywhere.

Ah! when the money comes, I vow I 'll burn

This patched old saintly dervish coat of mine,

Like the young year be young too in my turn,

And spend it all on roses and on wine.

For yesterday, in deep distress for drink,

I took it to the taverner at morn,

Asking a cup of wine for it—and think!

He said it was n 't worth a barley-corn.

See the red roses in the Saki's cheek,

And on her garden-lips the violet blows;

No one has kissed me for a whole long week—

O lovely one, grant me to pluck a rose.

My friend, before you wander in Love's street,

Do not forget to take with you a guide—

So perilous for undirected feet

The twists and turnings once you are inside.

Yet many wonders you will meet with there,

And of the many this one not the least—

That there the timid deer it is pursues

The lion, and pulls down the lordly beast.

And when in doubt of what to do or think,

HAFIZ, raise high, drain deep, the golden cup:

Take counsel of the vine, HAFIZ, and drink

At once the wine and the dilemma up.

Poor HAFIZ! After all, the spring is gone,

The roses and the nightingales are going;

Yet of the roses you have plucked not one,

Nor drunk one cup of wine, for all its flowing.