XI: Whoever dwelleth in this abode of calamity and…

Whoever dwelleth in this abode of calamity and affliction,
For every one, there is trouble, each according to his case.

I seek after a place of safety, but I am unable to find one;
The world, to this degree, is so full of misery and woe:

Though fortune may, a thousand joys, on thee bestow,
With one affliction, it trampleth them all in the dust.

Neither is its most propitious time worthy of rejoicing;
Nor is its most portentous hour for lamentation befitting.

Be not cast down at its sorrows, for they do not continue;
And with its pleasures also, do not thou grow overjoyed.

If fortune grant unto thee an interview with a pretty one,
With the sting of separation, it speedily pierceth thy heart.

Prosperity never entereth within the precincts of one's abode,
Until misery and adversity its companions it maketh.

Good fortune, by its own words, saith, "I am not lasting,"
If thou shouldst but reverse the letters of that word.

The pigeon of vitality, it bringeth quickly down from its flight,
When the falcon of destiny spreadeth its pillions to the wind.

It draweth, without pretext, the dragon from the cave:
From the river it extracteth the fish, weak and paralyzed.

There is no cause for arrogance in life's immutability;
For it passeth by like the wind, both month and year.

Like a fool, O SEPARATED! do not thou its slave become;
For the world's joys and sorrows are a phantom and a dream!