O Cup—bearer! Give me again that wine of love for Thee;
Let me gain the place my soul desires.
My lyrical vein was all but dried up, still
The sheik decrees that, too, should be choked to death.
No trail now blazes in new fields of thought,
But blind slaves of sufies and mullahs survive.
Who snatched away the piercing sword of love?
Knowledge is left with an empty sheath alone.
With a luminous soul the power of song is life;
With a darkened soul that power is eternal death.
A full moon glistens in Thy brimful cup;
Deprive me not of its silver beams at night.