Ode 223

WHAT ails the times? Is friendship then no more?

What has become of the old kindly days?

The world seemed once so safe and warm with friends—

New men, new ways.

And living went with gust; existence wore

Brave feathers, and the jocund planet whirled

Gaily in heaven: now somewhat sadly ends

That ancient world.

The water of life is muddied and bitter grown—

Clear as the immortal well it used to be;

The roses sicken and the breezes faint;

What aileth—me!

And when the roses bloom, they bloom alone:

No nightingales! I cannot understand—

What is the meaning of this mortal taint

Upon the land?

The world was once the birthplace of great kings,

And there was music in it and many loves;

But now hath Venus burned her lute, y-wis,

And slain her doves:

No one gets drunk any more and no one sings;

No patron draws the ruby from the mine—

A melancholy world! HAFIZ, it is

No world of thine!