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In the Bazaar I saw, but yesterday,
A potter rudely pounding the fresh clay;
The clay in mystic language made complaint -
"I too was once like thee: thy hand then stay!"
Drink of that Wine which is Eternal Life!
With its Sunshine the joys of youth are rife:
Like fire it burns, but ah! what happiness
It bears to hearts that break in Sorrow's strife!
Scout the Traditions: bid the Law begone:
The morsel that thou hast withhold from none:
By word nor deed afflict a single heart:
I'll guarantee thee future worlds. Drink on!
Wine is rose-red, perchance the Rose's tears
Lie in the cup, or it a ruby bears:
A ruby melted in her essence sweet,
As moonlight melting when the Sun appears.
We break each vow: upon ourselves once more
Of fame and fair repute we shut the door;
Reproach me not with folly, for, in truth,
The Wine of Love hath caught me, as of yore.
To speak plain language, parable to shame,
We are the pieces, Heaven plays the game:
A childish game upon the board of Life,
Then back into the Box from whence we came.
O heart! truth absolute thou canst not see,
Then why abase theyself in misery?
Bow down to Fate, and wrestle not with Time!
The pen will not rewrite one word for thee.
But still the Rose's face the shadows fret,
Still doth my heart the wine-desire beget;
Sleep not, my love, it is not time to sleep,
But bring me wine, for daylight lingers yet!
Fling dust at heaven, that every offering spurns;
Drink wine, and love while thy desire yet burns;
What time is this to worship or to pray?
Of all that have departed, none returns.
Fill up the cup! the day breaks white like snow;
Learn colour from the Wine's deep ruby glow;
Two fragrant aloe-logs will cheer us all;
Make this a lute, that on the embers throw.
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