The Vintage of Love

The cup and the cup bearer are one.
Who can keep the wine from the drunkard?

The tavern is full, boisterous, and merry.
I have drunken my fill, but yet I tarry.
This vintage is strong: I should be wary!
But to drink one more cup,
What harm can it do,
If still I may linger, my love, with you.

My eyes are the cup, your eyes the bearer;
A lingering glance and my cup is full.

Many wines have I supped, none is rarer.
Ecstatic’ly sweet, no nectar is clearer.
It cuts to the heart, sharp as a sabre.
But to drink one more cup,
What harm can it do,
If in drinking that cup, my heart’s with you.

A silvery chalice gleams from your eyes:
This heavenly draught will still my heart’s cries.
To play drunken fool, I’ll not despise!

— Bhai Din

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