1. Return to my age and see how far it has reached,
Then judge it, and do not judge poetry.

2. For how many thirty years have turned white and passed,
Sixty, and the whiteness in it is not borrowed.

3. That is only a color made
A nature, though it is said the head turned white with fright,

4. Life passes and I have no regret for it,
I wish the critic of life had not criticized.

5. And death takes away what is in the nose of smell,
Under the soil and what is in the cheek of youth.

6. I see my escape from fate is bad,
If horses knew my knowledge in it, they would not race.

7. And I do not blame the brother of unbelief, but a man
Who fears hell, and does not cease stoking its flames.