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One cannot ride in two coaches at once!

Few are as fortunate as I am, among the peoples of the world;

Even fools are wise in the affairs of others;

In their own business even sages err.

To have little and to want no more

Is to be rich, and wise, and free.

31

We are growing old together, you and I,

Let us ask ourselves, what age is like?

The dull eye is closed before night falls,

The idle head is still uncombed at noon;

Propped on a staff we sometimes shuffle

From the southern porch to the garden gate;

Or sit all day behind closed doors.

One dare not look in the mirror’s polished face,

One cannot read small-letter books.

Deeper and deeper grows the love of old friends,

Fewer and fewer one’s dealings with young men.

One thing only, the pleasure of idle talk,

And summoning of memories,

Remains great as ever, when you and I meet.

32

What is the best course for me now,

But to take my belongings to the tavern

And sit there happily with a wine cup.

Let me avoid the company of false hearts,

Let me wash my own heart clean

Of all the stains that worldliness brings;

Let me have no companions

But a flask of wine and a book.

If I lift my cloak above the world’s dust

I shall rise far up, in independence,

Like the crown of the tall cypress.

When I see the cup-bearer’s face

And the wine gleaming in the cup

I feel ashamed of the worldly things I boasted of.

My slight frame is not able to bear this grief,

Now that she is gone: my poor heart cannot bear

The burden of her absence.

Think of me as a carouser in the wine-house,

Do not trouble my grieving heart,

For if I complain others will seek vengeance;

The dust of injury lies on my heart,

Yet I would not sully its bright mirror

Filled with the image of love.

33

Dawn’s breeze returns

And with it the lapwing

Returning from the southern desert;

I hear again the dove’s song

Singing softly of roses;

The tulip who understands the lily’s whispers

Has returned

And the friend whom the poet wronged

Has forgiven him and returns too,

Walking to his door with soft returning tread.

34

I cannot cease desiring until my desire is requited;

Until my mouth has tasted my love’s red mouth,

Or until from these lips that sought her lips

The breath has fled. Others may find an equal love;

On her doorstep I have laid myself down,

To be covered by dust when life and love

Have mingled and together flown.

35

My breath is ready to depart; but the grief in my heart,

Beating there without cease, refuses to let it go.

For she will not once give, not once,

With her sweet mouth, the peace my longing craves;

My breathing is a single long drawn sigh,

For the thought of her red mouth burns me like fire;

When will that mouth come close and whisper

What this longing heart desires to hear?

36

When I am gone open my tomb to see

The smoke that rises from it to wreathe about your feet,

For even there my heart will be burning for you:

Even from my funeral cloths the smoke will rise.

Oh beloved, come to the meadows waiting for your feet,

So that the thorns might blossom into flowers,

And fruit come to the boughs which have known

Perpetual winter only since you went away.

37

I search the gardens to find petals

As soft and perfumed as your cheek;

The west wind fans the meadows,

In every garden the poet seeks your face,

Asking you to show yourself, to dazzle the world

And all who dwell in it

With your loveliness.

Each curl of your luxurious tresses

Is a hook that catches my heart.

My heart is torn into a thousand wounds by those barbs,

From each a red drop starts, and earns the praise

Of other sad lovers, who understand

The poet’s longings and his sighs.

38

Everything around me shines like the moon;

Everything is scented with benediction.

How beautiful is life; and how beautiful are you,

Young girl, you who are like a thought of peace:

Your beauty belongs to all time.

O let us hate only war and destruction.

When we walk by the river at sunset,

When the water ripples and we hear the boatman