I have no care about that book above;
⁠Erase my name, or write it, as you please—
So I be written in the Book of Love.

What care I, love, for what the Sufis say?
The Sufis are but drunk another way;
⁠So you be drunk, it matters not the means,
So you be drunk—and glorify your clay.

Drunken myself, and with a merry mind,
An old man passed me, all in vine-leaves twined;
⁠I said, "Old man, hast thou forgotten God?"
"Go, drink yourself," he said, "for God is kind."

"Did God set grapes a-growing, do you think,
And at the same time make it sin to drink?
⁠Give thanks to Him who foreordained it thus—
Surely He loves to hear the glasses clink!"