Human life, which we live, is too short; How dare you spend its time on a dream? Throw your book; don't let it life abort As sunshine turns your drink into steam.
Don't let books show you life as a whim On which you spend long time in false joy, Thinking that you will get blinding fame, A mirage all your life can destroy.
Your own life passes by void of prize While you don't appreciate what you live. All your joy will then come to demise. No rewards ere your end you receive.
Does this sort of short life need a book Which takes you to the worlds others lived? You desert your own life just to look How those men human life they conceived.