001

Rise up! The hour is here That Adam shall appear; The stars bow, as they must, To this handful of dust.

The secret, that at rest Was hid in Being’s breast, By Clay and Water stirred Is magically heard.

002

On the roadway of desire Swift to gaze and to aspire, Glance assaying, clear of head, Moon and star together tread.

Say, what visions of delight In the dust amazed their sight, That they turned them from the skies And have fixed on us their eyes.

003

Thou canst pass, like morning’s breeze, Deep into the anemones, With a single breath disclose The locked secrets of the rose.

What is Life? The world, and all, To make spirit’s captive thrall; Since the world has prisoned thee, How shalt thou bring this to be?

’Twas decreed, long since enow, Sun and moon to thee should bow, But as yet thou knowest not How thou canst achieve, and what.

Take thou then a flask of wine From this tavern that is mine, And of one poor clod of earth Thou shalt bring a world to birth.

Iqbal! What bright lamp is it In thy bosom thou hast lit, That the things thyself canst do Thou in us canst fashion, too?

004

If it be thy will to gain The safe shore of Passion’s main, With a thousand brands of fire One faint flame is thy desire.

God has taught me how to spring Joyously upon the wing; Thou aspirest but to rest Cowering in thy meadow’s nest.

Seekest thou to win perchance The Beloved’s secret glance? First awhile be clutching then So the skirts of conscient men.

With no madness in thy breast Through the town thou clamourest; Pitcher shattered from thy grip, Thou wouldst yet the revel keep.

Practice too the amorous art, Learn to captivate the heart, If thou dost desire of me Love’s immortal minstrelsy.

005

Time is the winged messenger Of the Heart’s Desire; Wondrous herald! Tidings fair Is his life entire.

Think not, thou shalt never win The Beloved to view: The desire thy breast within Still is raw, and new!

Well I know that thou dost soar Hawklike high in air; Yet beware the flower, for Ancient is his snare.

How may Gabriel aspire Where Man’s dust shall fly? If his present fame is higher, ’Tis his roof that’s high!

All thy life is breath to take, Knowing not, frail man, That true living is to break The days’ talisman.

Of the science of the West This much I will speak: Sweet are sighs and tears expressed While the gaze is weak.

O’er the Crescent and the Cross I am raised sublime; Other tumult now doth toss In the brain of Time.