The Diwan of Abu'l-Ala

We that with song our pilgrimage beguile,
With purple islands which a sunset bore,
We, sunk upon the sacrilegious shore,
May parley with oblivion awhile.

I think our world is not a place of rest,
But where a man may take his little ease,
Until the landlord whom he never sees
Gives that apartment to another guest.

Live well! Be wary of this life, I say;
Do not o'erload yourself with righteousness.
Behold! the sword we polish in excess,
We gradually polish it away.