Ode 142

LIFE is not worth the trouble; the whole sky,

With all its pomp and pageantry of stars,

Was never worth the heaving of a sigh;

A tear indeed were paying far too high.

Yea! even all this goodly realm of Fars,

With Shiraz as the jewel in its crown,

Would find no merchant fool enough to buy

If Shiraz were not the Beloved's town.

Go sell your clouted prayer-coat if you can,

And see if any vintner counts it worth

A single cup of valuable wine,

Drawn from the musty cellars of old earth;

If so, you 'll get more than I get for mine.

Yea! a prayer-carpet made in Turkistan,

Most excellent in colour and design,

For sale I offered in the vintner's street:

“All colours at once! O woven and dyed deceit!

For you exchange this cup of honest red!

Never!” the Abbot of the Wine-house said.

Dangers and hardships of life's troubled sea,

At first they seemed to me a little thing;

But ah! that weary old pearl-fishery

Hath more of perils nowadays than pearls;

Too strong its wicked current sucks and swirls:

'T is not worth while—I let the others drown.

Yea! who would even choose to be a king,

And wear a royal crown upon his head,

If he must lose his head to wear his crown.

No, HAFIZ, 't is a small world and a vile,

Not worth a second thought when all is said;

What if my heart low down has whisperèd—

“Even the Well-Beloved is not worth while.”