Ode 477

IN the green sky I saw the new moon reaping,
And minded was I of my own life's field:
What harvest wilt thou to the sickle yield
When through thy fields the moon-shaped knife goes sweeping?

In other fields the sunlit blade is growing,
But still thou sleepest on and takest no heed;
The sun is up, yet idle is thy seed:
Thou sowest not, though all the world is sowing.

Back laughed I at myself: All this thou'rt telling
Of seed-time! The whole harvest of the sky
Love for a single barley-corn can buy,
The Pleiads at two barley-corns are selling.

Thieves of the starry night with plunder shining,
I trust you not, for who was it but you
Stole Kawou's crown, and robbed great Kaikhosru
Of his king's girdle—thieves, for all your shining!

Once on the starry chess-board stretched out yonder
The sun and moon played chess with her I love,
And, when it came round to her turn to move,
She played her mole—and won—and can you won­der?

Ear-rings suit better thy small ears than reason,
Yet in their pink shells wear these words to-day:
“HAFIZ has warned me all must pass away—
Even my beauty is but for a season.”