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 Kaf to Kaf 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 Saki 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, Hafiz! store as ruddy gold
The wit that's in thy ditty:
The stampers of false coin, behold!
Are bankers for the city.[35]

XLII

'Tis a deep charm which wakes the lover's flame,
Not ruby lip, nor verdant down its name.

Beauty is not the eye, lock, cheek, and mole;
A thousand subtle points the heart control.

XLIII

Zealot, censure not the toper, guileless though thou keep thy soul:
Certain 'tis that sins of others none shall write upon thy scroll.

Be my deeds or good or evil, look thou to thyself alone;
All men, when their work is ended, reap the harvest they have sown.

Never of Eternal Mercy preach that I must yet despair;
Canst thou pierce the veil, and tell me who is ugly, who is fair?

Every one the Friend solicits, be he sober, quaff he wine;
Every place has love its tenant, be it or the mosque, or shrine.

From the still retreat of virtue not the first am I to roam,
For my father also quitted his eternal Eden home.

See this head, devout submission: bricks at many a vintner's door:
If my foe these words misconstrue--"Bricks and head!"--Say nothing more.

Fair though Paradise's garden, deign to my advice to yield:
Here enjoy the shading willow, and the border of the field.

Lean not on thy store of merits; know'st thou 'gainst thy name for aye
What the Plastic Pen indited, on the Unbeginning Day?

Hafiz, if thou grasp thy beaker
When the hour of death is nigh,
From the street where stands the tavern
Straight they'll bear thee to the sky.

XLV

O breeze of morn! where is the place which guards my friend from strife?
Where is the abode of that sly Moon who lovers robs of life?

The night is dark, the Happy Vale in front of me I trace.[36]
Where is the fire of Sinaei, where is the m