The Aged Poet Seals His Book

From E11, The Epilogue. It illustrates E11.15–26 (to E11.29):

E11.15
When seventy-one full years had passed me by,Beneath my verse I brought the vaulted sky.
E11.16
For thirty-five long years, in hope of gold,I toiled within this transient earthly hold.
E11.17
Those thirty-five long years of toil were vain;The wind bore all away; I had no gain.
E11.18
My hopes had vanished with the years gone by;Now nearly eighty, worn with age, am I.
E11.19
In Sapandarmad, on the day of Ard,I seal the book and tale of Yazdegard.
E11.20
In year four hundred since Mohammad’s Flight,These final words of this great book I write.
E11.21
May Mahmud’s throne in lasting glory grow,His life stay green, his heart with gladness glow.
E11.22
His judgment, knowledge, lineage shine as one:The lamp of Ajam, and the Arabs’ sun.
E11.23
I praised him so his praise would ever stay,Through all the world, in plain and veiled display.
E11.24
Much praise from great men came into my store;And praise of him increases evermore.
E11.25
May that wise monarch flourish day by day,And may his wishes find a prosperous way.
E11.26
I leave this book to him, his name to bear;Its sixty thousand couplets I declare.