The Poet's Farewell

When sixty-five years had passed over me, I only gathered more worry, more pain, more toil. I turned in need to the history of kings, and faced a slow and grudging fate. The great men and the free-hearted scholars all wrote their pieces free of charge. I sat and watched them from a distance, as if I were nothing but their hired hand. All I got from them was a 'well done', and at their 'well done' my heart burst with grief. The old money-bags stayed tied shut, and that bright chain left my heart wounded. Among these famous notables of the city, Ali the Deylami was one who had a share to give. His affairs always ran smoothly, and he was esteemed among the great and bright of soul. Hosayn Qotayb is one of the noble free, who does not expect my words for nothing. From him come my food and clothing, my silver and gold, and from him I gained my movement, my feet, my wings. I know nothing of the roots and branches of taxes; I just roll about comfortably under my quilt. If the king of the world were not tight-fisted, I would have a seat on his throne-side of honor. Now that my years have reached seventy-one, I can bring the very heavens beneath my verse. May the court of Mahmud stay flourishing, may his head be green and his heart be glad. I praise him in such a way that across the world his fame will be spoken of, openly and in secret. It is my task to praise the great, and my praise only adds to his standing. May that wise man live forever, always acting as his heart desires. He has judgment, knowledge, and noble lineage, the lamp of Persia, the sun of Arabia. Now the tale of Yazdgerd is complete, on the day of Ard in the month of Esfand. Four hundred years had passed since the Hejra, in the name of the Lord who rules the world. Now that this book of fame has come to its end, the whole land will be full of my words. After this I will not die, for I am alive, since I have scattered the seed of the word. Everyone who has sense, judgment, and faith will bless my name after I am gone.