One day I told the village wits
That I would lay a trap.
«Don’t waste your time,» they told me. «It’s
A feather in your cap!
«You should be proud, for as a rule
Horse thieves are very smart
And never stoop to steal the mule
That hauls a water-cart.»
* * *
I had a vision as I drowsed,
A dream that pleasure gave:
A poem I had written roused
My father from his grave.
He heard my song with glowing eyes
Then sang me one of his,
And then Makhmud’s own ghost did rise
Beside the deep abyss,
And sang in turn a splendid song
That he himself had borne,
And older poets, too, did throng
And sing until the dawn.
Young poet, who shall follow me,
When in dull earth I’m pressed,
Awake me with your poetry
So I may lie at rest!
KEEP YOUR FRIENDS
Know, my friend, the worth of friendship
And the cost of hate! Beware
Lest you let a fit of anger
Foster malice everywhere!
Possibly your friend was hasty
And, offending you by chance,
When he saw his fault, confessed it—
Do not look at him askance!
As we age with time and languish,
It grows more than ever plain:
Friends are easy to abandon
But more difficult to gain.
If your trusty horse should stumble
And behave in manner strange,
At the causeway stop and grumble
But don’t rush your horse to change!
Pray do not be so reluctant
Loving kindness to display!
Friends exist not in abundance,
Do not let them fall away!
Once a different rule I followed:
Thinking all their failings bad
Many were the times I quarrelled
With the many friends I had!
Later came all sorts of people…
When a ridge had to be crossed,
How I longed for, how I needed
Every friend that I had lost!
Now how eagerly I seek you,
All who ever cared for me,
Found me once so unforgiving
And no pardon granted me.