“This gloomy night, these grisly waves, these winds and whirlpools loud and dread:
What reck they of our wretched plight who Safety’s shore so lightly tread?”

Thus quoth the Bard of Love and Wine,* whose dream of Heaven ne’er could rise
Beyond the brimming Kausar-cup and Houris with the white-black eyes;

Ah me! my race of threescore years is short, but long enough to pall
My sense with joyless joys as these, with Love and Houris, Wine and all.

Another boasts he would divorce old barren Reason from his bed,
And wed the Vine-maid in her stead;—fools who believe a word he said!*

And “‘Dust thou art to dust returning’ ne’er was spoke of human soul”
The Soofi cries, ’tis well for him that hath such gift to ask its goal.