16
Thinkest Thou that to the threshold I have made this pilgrimage? With the master of the household I have business to engage.
O deny me not Thy presence, For a wan, pale spark am I That to win a moment’s lustre In eternal fever lie.
Never more will I look backward On the road that I have traced; ‘Tis to gain the far tomorrow That, like Time, I forward haste.
Lo, love’s ocean is my vessel, And love’s ocean is my strand; For no other ship I hanker, Nor desire another land.
Scatter now a spark, but gently, Such a spark as will not burn; I am newly fledged to needing, To the nest I would return.
In the far, fond hope that, haply, Thou wilt hunt for me one day, From the spinning noose of princes Like a fawn I leapt away.
And if Thou wilt be so gracious, I will give these friends of mine A bright glass or two delightful Of my night‐consoling wine.
17
With a glance at us who sit by the way He goes riding by: Conceive, if Thou canst, my soul’s dismay Sore distraught am I.
What have I to tell of the lovely fair Unto anyone? With a gaze as swift as a spark in the air He is past and gone.
To the friend’s abode it is hard to tread And the road is far; But love rides high, and is quickly sped On the back of a star.
What cause to despair, though the circling sky Be wrapped in a veil? It will pierce a rock, the audacious eye, And it cannot fail.
Our sprinkled dew is an ocean wide, And the sky its shore; Let a lone wave break, and its swelling tide Shall yet higher soar.
When Thou shalt stand with Him face to face, Do not lift thine eyes; For sight is vain in that holy place, And the vision dies.
How should I weep, though sorrow sears? For my broken heart Is borne on the flood of my bitter tears, And wi1l soon depart.
18
Better is the robbers’ train Than the heaven pacing brain, Better one distress of heart Than all Plato’s learned art.
Yesterday the Magian boy Told me of love’s secret joy: ‘Better that salt tear of thine Than the sweet and ruby wine.’
Better poverty, that gains Bloodlessly the heart’s domains, Than the realm Darius won, Feridun’s dominion.
In the Magian temple cry; Let Thy voice be heard on high! But within the Sufi cell Better is the whispered spell.
With our river of heart’s blood Need is none of Noah’s flood; Better there one swelling wave Than where Oxus’ waters lave.
Lo, Thy torrent sweeping down Threatens to engulf the town! Better let Thy havoc be In the desert’s privacy.
Singer Iqbal, sooth to tell, Call him not an infidel: Better he were out of school Till his fevered brain shall cool!
19
Either do not tell the Muslim to put his life at risk, Or else breathe a new soul into this worn‐out frame. Do one thing or the other!
Either tell the Brahmin to carve a new idol, Or go and dwell in zunnar‐wearersʹ hearts Yourself Do one thing or the other!
Either a new Adam, a little less evil than Iblis Or another Iblis to challenge faith and reason! Do one thing or the other!
Either a new world or a new test! For how long will you go on treating us like this? Do one thing or the other!
Give us poverty? Do it, but gives us Chosroe’s glory as well! Or give us reason together with Gabrielʹs disposition. Do one thing or the other!
Either kill the desire for revolution that stirs in my heart, Or completely change these heavens and the earth. Do one thing or the other!
20
Intellect is passion too, And it knows the joy to view, But the poor unfortunate Dares not as the inebriate.
Though I know the fantasy Of the stage was shaped by me, Yet it were a coward’s way On the journey to delay.
Every moment is my prayer That I may yet further fare, Till my folly’s governor Says there is no desert more.
In such frenzy of the soul Still I do not yield control: Every madman cannot boast That to self he is not lost!