The Unbeliever Knows His Koran

Come, Fill The Cup, And In The Fire Of Spring The Winter Garment Of Repentance Fling: The Bird Of Time Has But A Little Way To Fly-and Lo! The Bird Is On The Wing.

I Wonder What The Vintners Buy One Half So Precious As The Stuff They Sell.

Awake, My Little Ones, And Fill The Cup Before Life's Liquor In Its Cup Be Dry.

And This I Know; Whether The One True Light Kindle To Love, Or Wrath Consume Me Quite, One Flash Of It Within The Tavern Caught Better Than In The Temple Lost Outright.

The Flower That Once Has Blown Forever Dies.