Lamentation Poem by Shlomo ibn Gabirol
Lamentation
Strayed in mid-youth, rouse up, nor sleep, for lo!
The days of youth like clouds of smoke will pass.
Ere evening falls, thou shalt be withered grass,
Though morning saw thee like a lily blow.
Why waste on ancestors a heated breath,
Or note which progeny was Abraham's?
Whether his food be herbs or Bashan rams,
Man, wretched wight, is on his way to death.
Translated by Israel Zangwill
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/26/2024 8:55:46 PM # 1.0.0.1119
