Is but a phantom of the night.
ON MODERATION IN OUR PLEASURES[46]
(By Abu Alcassim Ebn Tabataba)
How oft does passion's grasp destroy
The pleasure that it strives to gain?
How soon the thoughtless course of joy
Is doomed to terminate in pain?
When prudence would thy steps delay,
She but restrains to make thee blest;
Whate'er from joy she lops away,