IS it not Spring? Behold us quit

Of irksome vows of penitence!

Ecstatic love’s awakening sense

Shall break the bonds that fettered it.

If to the mosque thy steps incline

With pious thoughts and robe of prayer,

The arching eyebrows of the fair

Will dim the arches of the shrine.

But ah, how transient the delight

Our days of wine and roses bring:

Dark autumn follows on the spring

And puts our revelries to flight.

The breeze that wooed the budding rose,

And kissed its petals into bloom,

Comes hurtling back in gusts and gloom,

And brings its glory to a close.