As of late

I have fallen in love with old poetry and old poems. My favorite, this month's darling, or perhaps this year's since i think i reread one of his poems in January, is Hafez. Why is it that the old words of those long gone that ring true now? What is it that they learned that wee fail to get even now? What is it about these words that make me envy the one that penned them so long ago? I read of his love and turn green with envy, jealous of one who became ash long ago. Then i am sad, and happy as well, happy that someone felt this, had this and shared it with the world, and sad that it wasn't me. Please god, let it someday be me.

Not on the lips of men Love's secret lies,
Remote and unrevealed his dwelling-place.
Oh Saki, come! the idle laughter dies
When thou the feast with heavenly wine dost grace.
Patience and wisdom, Hafiz, in a sea
Of thine own tears are drowned; thy misery
They could not still nor hide from curious eyes.