|Set out once more that cup, that wine, oh Saki—|
Let my true place at last be mine, oh Saki!
|Three centuries India’s wine-shops have been closed,|
And now for your largesse we pine, oh Saki;
|My flask of poetry held the last few drops—|
Unlawful, says our crabb’d devine, oh Saki.
|Truth’s forest hides no lion-hearts now: men grovel|
Before the priest, or the saint’s shrine, oh Saki.
|Who has borne off Love’s valiant sword? About|
An empty scabbard Wisdom’s hands twine, oh Saki.
|Verse lights up life, while heart burns bright, but fades|
For ever when those rays decline, oh Saki;
|Bereave not of its moon my night; I see|
A full moon in your goblet shine, oh Saki!
Translated by: V.G. Kiernan