Ode XXXV

Now on the rose's palm the cup with limpid wine is brimming,

And with a hundred thousand tongues the bird her praise is hymning.

Ask for a song-book, seek the wild, no time is this for knowledge;

The Comment of the Comments spurn, and learning of the college,[33]

Be it thy rule to shun mankind, and let the Phoenix monish,

For the reports of hermit fame, from Káf to Káf astonish.[34]

When yesterday our rector reeled, this sentence he propounded:

"Wine is a scandal; but far worse what men's bequests have founded."

Turbid or clear, though not thy choice, drink thankfully; well knowing

That all which from our Sákí flows to his free grace is owing.

Each dullard who would share my fame, each rival self-deceiver,

Reminds me that at times the mat seems golden to its weaver.

Cease, Háfiz! store as ruddy gold

The wit that's in thy ditty:

The stampers of false coin, behold!

Are bankers for the city.[35]