O GOD! the rosebud of my hope unclose,
Show from th' eternal garden me a rose;
With smiles from that bud's lip my garden fill:
Into my brain that rose's scent distil.
Of restless trouble in this resting-place
Make me to know Thy own abiding grace.
With thoughts of gratitude full fill my mind;
Grant to Thy praise my tongue may be inclined.
Good days* with wisdom's guidance give to me;
Bestow in realm of speech the victory.
Of virtue full Thou didst a heart bestow:
That heart's wealth may my tongue both weigh and know.
My nature's musk-bag* it was Thou didst shred;
From Kâf to Kâf* make me musk-perfume shed.
With verse a sweet tongue may my reed be found,
And may my book shed amber perfume round.
The word's accomplishment I cannot find,*
Naught of the book but name is left behind;
And in this tavern, with its tales so sweet,
Of that fair air no echo do I meet.
My comrades drank the wine, and they are gone;
They left the taverns empty, and are gone!
And ripened by this vain feast none I see,
A cup of that wine on whose hand may be.
Of wine and of cupbearer's bowl bereft,
For me but sorrow there is nothing left.
Come, Jámi, bashfulness now lay aside;
Whate'er thou hast, or clear or dregs, provide.*