051
In the abode of passion, where The dust is fraught with pain, Shineth in every atom there Pure spirit without stain.
No Magian wine from Magian boy The revellers there take; One glance of rapture and of joy Each fragile glass doth break.
Let madness surge not in thee so When thou dost stand at prayer; Keep firm thy reason; do not go With shredded raiment there!
052
The young beloved, the ancient wine, The maids of Paradise, These joys men reckon rare and fine Charm not the truly wise.
Whate’er eternal thou dost deem, Mountain, and sea, and shore, Land, plain, whate’er assured doth seem, These pass, and are no more.
The learning of the Westerner, The East’s philosophy, All is an idol house of prayer— And idols nothing be!
Cross not this desert terrified; Fix on thy self thy thought; Thou only art, and all beside, Yea, all the world, is naught!
Upon this way mine eyelashes Have quarried out of stone, Nor stage nor caravan there is, And shifting sands are none.
053
Qalandars, who to their sway Water strive to win and clay, From the monarch tribute bear Though the beggar’s robe they wear.
They appear, and round the sun And the moon their rope is spun; They retire, and in their breast Time and Space repose at rest.
When the revel rules the day Bright as shimmering silks are they. Yet when battle is toward For the sacrifice prepared.
A new order they devise For the broad and dappled skies, Bear the ancient stars and all On their backs to funeral.
Time hath from her face untied Morrow’s veil, to lay aside; Yet today men still delight In the wine of yesternight.
Hovers on my lip the word That must never be declared; Strange, the learned of the town Silent are, nor even frown!
054
A double handled sword am I Laid naked by the circling sky; Fortune hath sharpened me in Space, And whetted me upon Time’s face.
I am the world of fantasy; The genius of eternity The world of nightingale and rose Hath shattered, fashioning me for those.
The youthful wine to cheer the soul That I am pouring in the bowl Is from the vat, whereby my jar And glass decanter molten are.
The breath is burning in my breast; The sanctuary is my nest, And men may recognize my throat By the great ardour of my note.
Wrecked is the barque the ancient guide Built out of sense, therein to ride; Blest is the one who fashioned me To be his vessel on the sea.
055
Each atom’s body like a spark I set a quivering, Each atom quivers through the dark And soars as on a wing.
List to my music burning new! Each diamantine grain I fashion like a drop of dew To trickle soft as rain.
From manifesting’s stage when break My soft, sweet melodies, Even in the dead of night I make The dawn desire to rise.
Joseph, concealed from sight so long, I have revealed anew, That I may fire the needy throng His beauty to pursue.
Dear love, that doth man’s patience try, To dust in ecstasy Hath given eyes to weep, and I The wondrous joy to see