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.”