Areopagus Volume LXXII

Seven short lessons every someday.

Welcome one and all to the seventy second volume of the Areopagus. As the waves of the sea are constant in their crashing but inconstant in their volume, last week's maelstrom shall by followed this week by a gentler swell. To the extent that I can, then, I have endeavoured to keep things brief. And to "kick things off", as they say, I offer you the wisdom of Hafiz, the great Persian poet of the 14th century who lived and died and composed his sumptuous verses in the rose-gardens and shaded pavilions of Shiraz:

The Sultan’s crown, with priceless jewels set,
Encircles fear of death and constant dread
It is a head-dress much desired–and yet
Art sure ’tis worth the danger to the head?
‘Twere best for thee to hide thy face from those
That long for thee; the Conqueror’s reward
Is never worth the army’s long-drawn woes,
Worth fire and sword.

Ah, seek the treasure of a mind at rest
And store it in the treasury of Ease;
Not worth a loyal heart, a tranquil breast,
Were all the riches of thy lands and seas!