Hafiz, you are growing old;
Hafiz, all the girls abandon
Bards whose blood is getting cold,
Bards whom Time has laid his hand on.
All the merry songs you sung
In the days when you were young,
Are not worth a feather’s weight
To arrest the fist of Fate
When it jogs your shifting sand on.
Hafiz, though a tinge of grey
Shames the locks that once were sable,
Drink and laugh the world away,
Swear that eld’s a housewife’s fable;
Vow that youth is always yours
While the graceful gait allures,
While the perfume haunts the rose,
While a ruddy balsam flows
From the flagon on the table.
Just a word within your ear,
Hafiz: you’re a craven creature
If you waste a single tear
On the thought that every feature
Of the fairest face a maid
Ever showed the sun must fade;
Rather bid your mistress weigh
Youth and beauty’s barren stay,
And a wiser lesson teach her.
Tell her youth was made for love;
Tell her wine was made for drinking;
Tell her that in heaven above
Mahmoud and his saints are winking
At the golden jest of youth;
Tell her wisdom’s wisest truth
Is, be merry while you may,
Cease regretting yesterday,
Or about to-morrow thinking.