Sol 5.6

  1. Turn your ear from the censor’s words,

    and with goblets strike the firesteel of resolve.

  2. And when the night of cares grows dark, seek out

    a jar of wine, the cleaver of daybreak.

  3. How lovely the cupbearer—his fingers passing round

    cups of wine that grant repose to souls:

  4. a wine chilled by the north wind, refusing to let its vessel’s head

    wear any turban but an apple one—

  5. fresh as red anemones, and as though

    the bubbles’ weave were its veil of white daisies.

  6. No sorrowing soul ever drinks a drop of it

    but dons, like armor, the carefree one’s rapture.

  7. As though it lay spilled like blood within its cup,

    its great age bringing tidings of al-Saffāḥ, the Blood-Shedder.

  8. And as though the strings, singing of its graces,

    spoke for them with eloquent tongues.

Sol 5.6