Ode 225

ONCE more red wine hath turned my willing head,

O once again completely vanquished me!

Turned my old yellow cheek a rosy red—

Blessings, red wine, on thee!

Blessings upon the hand, long since with God,

That plucked the first grape from the primal vine,

And blest his feet that first the wine-press trod—

True friend he was of mine.

When Fate has written “lover’ on thy brow,

Accept thy doom; resistance is in vain;

Best to the tragic signature to bow—

Fate rubs not out again.

Boast not of wisdom: hast thou ever thought

That Aristotle must give back his mind

To death at last, even as the most untaught

And savage of mankind?

Zahid, scold not, though fallen in arrear

Our pious dues—we 'll settle them some day;

'T is no small sum—give us another year:

God's debts are hard to pay.

This is the way to live—that when thou diest

No one believes that thou art really dead;

HAFIZ, thy song the power of death defiest

As long as rose is red.

HAFIZ is drunk in many different ways—

Drunk with the Infinite, drunk with the Divine,

With music drunk, and many a lovely face;

Also, he 's drunk—with wine.