Nadir Shah of Afghanistan

Laden with pearls departed from the presence-hall of God That cloud that makes the pulse of life stir in the rose‐budʹs vein

And on its way saw Paradise, and trembled with desire That on such exquisite abode it might descend in rain

A voice sounded from Paradise: “They wait for you afar, Kabul and Ghazni and Herat, and their newspringing grass;

Scatter the tear from Nadirʹs eye on the poppyʹs burning scar, That never more may be put out the poppyʹs glowing fire!”