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Johann Wolfgang von Goethe - Book Of Hafis - The Unlimited
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THAT thou can`t never end, doth make thee great,
And that thou ne`er beginnest, is thy fate.
Thy song is changeful as yon starry frame,
End and beginning evermore the same;
And what the middle bringeth, but contains
What was at first, and what at last remains.
Thou art of joy the true and minstrel-source,
From thee pours wave on wave with ceaseless force.
A mouth that`s aye prepared to kiss,

A breast whence flows a loving song,
A throat that finds no draught amiss,

An open heart that knows no wrong.

And what though all the world should sink!

Hafis, with thee, alone with thee

Will I contend! joy, misery,

The portion of us twain shall be;
Like thee to love, like thee to drink,—

This be my pride,—this, life to me!

Now, Song, with thine own fire be sung,—
For thou art older, thou more young!
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