Ode 168

HE who hath made thy cheek of the wild rose

Can also give me patience, if he please;

And he through whom thy hair so thickly grows

Can with as little trouble give me ease.

No hope had I of Ferhád* from that hour

When upon Shirin's lips his lips he pressed,

And threw the reins of passion to a flower,

And took his joy—and left the world the rest.

What though the golden treasure be denied,

He who gives gold and silver unto kings

Teaches the beggar to be satisfied

To do without those bright superfluous things.

This world 's a goodly bride to outward show;

But, mark me! whoso taketh her to wife

As marriage portion must on her bestow

No less a treasure than his very life.

Therefore, wise heart, 't were safer to abide

In solitude, and to the cypress cling

That spreads its skirts upon the river side—

And lo! the East Wind brings us news of spring.

In the stern grip of Time my heart drips blood;

Kiwam-ed-din, I miss your august praise:

The golden hand which gave the parrot food

Is closed against thee, HAFIZ, nowadays.