GHASELLE: FROM THE PERSIAN OF HAFIZ. OF Paradise, O hermit wise, Let us renounce the thought; Of old therein our names of sin Who dear to God on earthly sod No corn-grain plants, The same is glad that life is had, Though corn he wants. O just fakir, with brow austere, On the first day, poor Hafiz' clay Thy mind the mosque and cool kiosk, Spare fast and orisons; Mine me allows the drinking-house, And sweet chase of the nuns. He is no dervise, Heaven slights his service, Who shall refuse There in the banquet to pawn his blanket For Schiraz' juice. Who his friend's skirt or hem of his shirt Shall spare to pledge, To him Eden's bliss and angel's kiss Shall want their edge. Up! Hafiz, grace from high God's face Beams on thee pure; Shy thou not hell, and trust thou well, Heaven is secure. XENOPHANES. By fate, not option, frugal Nature gave It was her stern necessity: all things Are of one pattern made; bird, beast, and flower, And are but one. Beheld far off, they differ The specious panorama of a year But multiplies the image of a day, A belt of mirrors round a taper's flame; And universal Nature, through her vast And crowded whole, an infinite paroquet, Repeats one note. THE DAY'S RATION. WHEN I was born, From all the seas of strength Fate filled a chalice, Saying, 'This be thy portion, child; this chalice, Less than a lily's, thou shalt daily draw From my great arteries, nor less, nor more.' All substances the cunning chemist Time Melts down into that liquor of my life, Friends, foes, joys, fortunes, beauty, and disgust. And whether I am angry or content, Indebted or insulted, loved or hurt, All he distils into sidereal wine And brims my little cup; heedless, alas! |