“O lofty Cypress, thou that ravishest
The heart! oh! wherefore art thou thus opprest?
With pleasure, Grace, and luxury anear
Why is thine ardent heart fulfilled with fear?”
Said to the questioner the Cypress-tree:—
“I was in joy ere age o'ermastered me.
I yield me to the puissance of three-score,
Forbear then and contend therewith no more,
For it hath dragon's breath and lion's claw,
And whomsoe'er it flingeth it will gnaw.
It hath the might of wolf, and thunder-breath,
In one hand care and in the other death.
It maketh stoop the Cypress that subdued
All hearts, it maketh jasmine amber-hued;
It giveth saffron's tint to cercis-bloom,
And, after saffron's tint, a toilful doom.
The runner's foot is bound though fetterless,
The precious body turned to wretchedness;
The lustrous pearls begin to fail with me,
And stoopeth too the noble cypress-tree;
My melancholy eyes bewail and run
Through their debility and travail done;
My blithe, glad heart is full of pain, and thus
These days of mine have grown ungenerous.
Or ever man is weaned his death is nigh,
And people call him old! The sovereignty
Of Núshírwán was forty years and eight;
To look for youth at sixty is too late
For thee, so seek an end to thine affairs,
And wound thy heart no more by gainful cares.”*