So touch my dying lip: so bridge that deep:
So pledge my waking from the gift of sleep,
And, sacramental, raise me the Divine:
Strong brother in God and last companion, Wine.

I want to brag a little. I am dizzy,
under the influence of wine, which makes
even the wisest people sing and giggle,
and dance, and say things best not spoken.

Un soir, l'âme du vin chantait dans les bouteilles:
"Homme, vers toi je pousse, ô cher déshérité,
Sous ma prison de verre et mes cires vermeilles."

One night, the soul of wine was singing in the flask:
"O man, dear disinherited! to you I sing
This song full of light and of brotherhood
From my prison of glass with its scarlet wax seals."

I was dead then alive, She was like wine turned to water then turned back to wine; You can pour us out, we won't mind, As scratch around the mouth of the glass, "My life is no longer mine."

If anyone thinks that I amn't divine
He'll get no free drinks when I'm making the wine
But have to drink water and wish it were plain
That I make when the wine becomes water again.

Wine is an escape from grief,
a slip into sleep,
a cool forgetting of the hot pains of day.
What better cure for being human?

I am tipsy after my
own feelings themselves have become wine.
I forget myself, world and all.

If I go before I’m old,
Oh brother of mine please don’t forget me if I go.
Bartender please, fill my glass for me?
With the wine you gave Jesus that set him free,
after three days in the ground.

Today is the time of my youth
I drink wine because it is my solace;
Do not blame me, although it is bitter it is pleasant,
It is bitter because it is my life.

How much more of the mosque, of prayer and fasting?
Better go drunk and begging round the taverns.
Khayyam, drink wine, for soon this clay of yours
Will make a cup, bowl, one day a jar.

When once you hear the roses are in bloom,
Then is the time, my love, to pour the wine;
Houris and palaces and Heaven and Hell-
These are but fairy-tales, forget them all.