Up, Saki!-- let the goblet flow:
Strew with dust the head of our earthly woe!
Give me thy cup; that, joy-possessed,
I may tear this azure cowl from my breast.
The wise may deem me lost to shame,
But no care have I for renown or name.
Bring wine! --how many a witless head
By the wind of pride has with dust been spread!
My bosom's fumes, my sighs so warm,
Have inflamed yon crude and unfeeling swarm.
This mad heart's secret, well I know,
Is beyond the thoughts of both high and low.
Even by that sweetheart charmed am I,
Who once from my heart made sweetness fly,
Who that my Silvern Tree hath seen,
Would regard the cypress that decks the green?
In grief be patient, Night and day,
Till thy fortune, Hafez, Thy wish obey.