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ST11. : TaKen trom: POET:IY by J.D.Q.:AJ.LYL,]
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T. 11: 9PFOTTIFNS OF An7s. P.T Am p O v T'Y 1-y T D C-nIYLE
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ON THE DEATF OF A SON
Tyrant of Man: Imperial Fate:
I bow before tny dread decree,
Nor hope in this uncertain state,
To find a seat secure frnm thee.
Life is a dark, tumultous stream,
With many a care anc: . sorrow foul,
Yet thouohtless mortals vainly deem,
That it can yield a limpid bowl.
Think not that stream swill backward flow,
Or cease its destin'd course to keep;
As soon the blazing spark shall rIlow,
Beneath the surface ot the deep.
Believe not Fate at thy command
Will grant a meed that never gave;
As soon the airy tower shall stand,
That's built upon a passing wave.
Life is a sleep of threescore years,
Death bids us wake and nail the light,
And man, with all his hones and fears,
is out a phantom of the night.
(Translated rrom Arabic by J.D.L.arlyle)
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