Classic Poem

The universe from end to end, One moment's care unworth it is;
Our patchcoat sell for wine; for, sure, Better to fare unworth it is.

The Loved One's quarter bindeth us: But otherwise what booteth Fars?
For lo! the whole wide world, this stress We suffer there unworth it is.

Since in the vintner's street will none Accept it for a cup of wine,
A fine prayer-rug, if one poor cup Of wine soe'er unworth it is!

The watchers chide me, saying, " Turn Thy face away from yonder door. "
What ails my head, that of the door-Dust of the fair unworth it is?

This cassock wash of covetise; For in the single-hearts' bazaar,
Whate'er the patchcoat be, one cup Of red wine rare unworth it is.

Light, at the first, in hope of gain, Meseemed the stresses of the sea.
I erred; for, for a hundred pearls This flood to dare, unworth it is.

The splendour of the royal crown, Wherein life's danger is involved,
Heart-luring is; but it, at risk Of life, to wear, unworth it is.

Thy face 'twere better that thou hide From longing lovers, for, despite
The joys of conquering the world, The army's care unworth it is.

Like Hafiz, seek content and turn From this vile world; for one sole grain
Of obligation to the base, All gold whate'er unworth it is.