Not only wine / but its oblivion I pour — Pessoa

Not only wine but its oblivion I pour
In my cup, and I will be happy, because happiness
    Is ignorant.  Who, remembering
    Or foreseeing ever smiled?

Let us with our thinking, obtain not life
But the soul of animals, taking refuge
    In the impalpable destiny
    Which neither hopes nor remembers.

With mortal hand I raise a fragile cup
Of fleeting wine to my mortal mouth,
    Eyes clouded,
    Ready to stop seeing.