Poem #391

What is sweeter than the thought of wine and the cup?

Nothing, until I see what the final end will be.

How long can we bear the heart's grief?

For time does not remain; say: 'Let there be no heart, and no time—what then will be?'

Tell the impatient bird to suffer its own grief

for what mercy will the fowler show to it?

Drink wine, do not grieve, and heed not the mimic's advice

what value has the word of the common herd?

Better that your hard-earned gain be spent on desire

for you know well what comes to failure in the end.

Last night, the Elder of the Tavern read a riddle

from the ruby wine: 'What will the final ending be?'

With harp and tambourine and song, I led Hafez's heart astray

now, what punishment awaits my ill-famed name?