THE WINE-SONG Rememb'ring the beloved, wine we drink Which drunk had made us ere the vine's creation. A sun it is; the full moon is its cup; A crescent hands it round; how many stars Shine forth from it the moment it be mixed! But for its fragrance ne'er had I been guided Unto its tavern; but for its resplendence Imagining could no image make of it. Time its mere gasp hath left; hidden it is. Like secrets pent in the intelligence, Yet if it be remembered in the tribe, All become drunk--no shame on them nor sin. Up hath it fumed from out the vessel's dregs. Nothing is left of it, only a name; Yet if that name but enter a man's mind, Gladness shall dwell with him and grief depart. Had the boon revellers gazed upon its seal, That seal, without the wine, had made them drunk. Sprinkle a dead man's grave with drops of it, His spirit would return, his body quicken.

If in the shadow of the wall where spreads Its vine they laid a man, mortally sick, Gone were his sickness; and one paralysed, Brought near its tavern, would walk; the dumb would speak, Did he its savour recollect. Its fragrance. If wafted through the East, even in the West, Would free, for one berheumed, his sense of smell; And he who stained his palm, clasping its cup, Could never, star in hand, be lost by night. Unveil it like a bride in secrecy Before one blind from birth: his sight would dawn. Decant it, and the deaf would hearing have. If riders rode out for its native earth, And one of them were bit by snake, unharmed By poison he. If the enchanter traced The letters of its name on madman's brow, That script would cure him of his lunacy; And blazoned on the standard of a host, Its name would make all men beneath it drunk. In virtue the boon revellers it amends, Makes perfect.

Thus by it the irresolute Is guided to the path of firm resolve. Bountiful he, whose hand no bounty knew; And he that never yet forbore forbeareth, Despite the goad of anger. The tribe's dunce, Could he but kiss its filter, by that kiss Would win the sense of all its attributes. 'Describe it, well thou knowest how it is', They bid me. Yea, its qualities I know: Not water and not air nor fire nor earth, But purity for water, and for air Subtlety, light for fire, spirit for earth-- Excellencies that guide to extol its good All who would tell of it, and excellent Their prose in praise of it, excellent their verse. So he that knew not of it can rejoice To hear it mentioned, as Nu'm's lover doth To hear her name, whenever Nu'm is named. Before all beings, in Eternity It is, ere yet was any shape or trace.