Poem #355

I see the wisdom of the times in this alone

to move to the tavern, and make its seat my throne.

I'll take the cup and shun the hypocrite's display

and choose the pure of heart to walk with on my way.

My flask and book shall be my only friends and guide

that I may see less of the false ones at my side.

I’ll lift my head like the cypress, proud and free

if fate allows me to cut the world’s hold on me.

In stained robes I boasted of a virtue untrue

I am ashamed before the Wine and the Cupbearer too.

My chest is narrow, and His grief a heavy load

alas, my poor heart fails upon this weary road.

Whether I am a rogue or a saint in the city's eyes

I am what you see—and less, in this disguise.

I am the servant of Asaf; do not lead me astray

for if I speak, the Heavens will exact the price you pay.

My heart is gathered with dust of pain and woe

God forbid my mirror's face should dark and cloudy grow.