(24)

The mind can give you naught, But what with doubt is fraught: One look of Saintly Guide Can needful cure provide.

The goal that you presume Is far and out of view: What else can be this life But zeal for endless strife?

Much worth the pearl begets, For guard on self it sets: What else in pearl is found Except its sheen profound?

Though blood in veins may race, To Life it lends no grace: Only the glow of heart To Life can zeal impart.

Wherefore, O Tulip Bride, From me your charms you hide? I am the breath of morn, Your face I would adorn.

What Frankish dealers take For counterfeit and fake, Is true and real art— Not valued in their Mart.

Though indigent I be, I am of hand yet free: What can the Flame bestow Except its spark and glow?