Wake! for the sun who scatter'd into flight
Before the phantom of false morning died
Now the new year reviving old desires
Irám indeed is gone with all his rose
Come, fill the cup, and in the fire of spring
Whether at Naishapur or Babylon
Ah, not a drop that from our cups we throw
I sometimes think that never blows so red
A book of verses underneath the bough
Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend
When you and I behind the veil are past
But if the soul can fling the dust aside
I sent my soul through the invisible
Alas! that spring should vanish with the rose!
The worldly hope men set their hearts upon
Each morn a thousand roses brings, you say
They say the lion and the lizard keep
Ah, fill the cup! what boots it to repeat
Ah, moon of my delight, that knows no wane
As then the tulip for her morning sup
Alas! that spring should vanish with the rose!
