Though wine be pleasing and the breeze be rife with roses, we must cease Drinking to harp-music, for here come the morality police. If you've found wine and a fine friend to drink with, drink, but be discreet. The times we're living in are dire days of oppression and caprice. Gather no more in public. Hide the winegla** up your ragged sleeve. Just as your jug, this age itself sheds crimson tears at all it sees. With salt tears, wash the sweet red stain of wine out of your dervish cloak, For 'tis the season to be sober, time to abstain and bend your knees. Oh, turn not to the gyring heavens for any kindness or relief. The curving brim of that cruel bowl is dirtied with the wretched lees. The heavens have become a sieve spattering blood on mortal heads From the slit throats of Persian kings, from the felled crown of great Parviz. You've held Iraq and Fars in sway with strains of your sweet verse, Hafiz! So come. It's time to go and sing for the courts of Baghdad and Tabriz.