The juice that maketh tulips spring
Within the heart—a bumper bring,
Saqi! and let the April gust
Scatter at will my body’s dust.

I drank the West’s -enamelled bowl,
And darkness settled o’er my soul;
O give me sight to see the way
And where I went so sore astray.

Upon the wave of every breeze
Like chaff I turned as it might please;
Tumultuous beats the heart of me
With vain surmise; give certainty!

My spirit’s fretful small desire
Glows wanly as a spark of fire;
Give me desire of heart’s delight,
A star to shine upon my night.

Thou gayest in my hand a pen
Skilful to paint a king of men;
Thou madest me a scribe; then give
A tablet, that my creed may live!