Ode 71

WITHOUT your cheek, black night is every day,
Your cheek of roses made and shining dew;
All life is dusty death that is not you;
There is no world with you such worlds away.

I wept so when last time we said good-bye,
I washed from out my eyes the power of sight;
That queen, your image, told me that she might
Dwell not in such a ruin as my eye.

So long as you were mine, my day of death
Far in the distance, a mere fancy, loomed;
Alas! now am I veritably doomed,
And measured out the wine-jar of my breath.

Stark near the moment is when I must die;
Ah! love, from you far distant be the day
When the dark watchers unto you shall say,
“Nothing is left of you in sea or sky.”

Ah! then 't will not avail that you repent,
Or that you love me then; for I shall be
A sighing dust, a grim anatomy,
A robe of ashes, an old monument.

My eyes with so much weeping are drained and dried
Of natural tears; Beloved, if you would
That still I weep, remaineth my heart's blood;
With tears of blood will you be satisfied?

Patience and laughter, HAFIZ; it is they
Would be your doctors. Patience! how shall I,
Dissolved in weakness, the power of patience try?
And sorrow and mirth met not this many a day.