IX

XVI

The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon
Turns Ashes or it prospers; and anon,
Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face,
Lighting a little hour or two
was gone.

XVII

Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai
Whose Portals are alternate Night and Day,
How Sultán after Sultán with his Pomp
Abode his destin'd Hour, and went his way.

XVIII

They say the Lion and the Lizard keep The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep:

And Bahrám, that great Hunter the Wild Ass

Stamps o'er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep.

XXIV

Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie, Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and sans End!

XXVII

--

Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Doctor and Saint, and heard great argument
About it and about: but evermore
Came out by the same door where in I went.

XXVIII

With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow, And with mine own hand wrought to make it

grow;

And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd— "I came like Water, and like Wind I go."

And round her happy footsteps blow
The authentic airs of Paradise.
For joy of her he cannot sleep,

Her beauty haunts him all the night;
It melts his heart, it makes him weep
For wonder, worship, and delight.
O, paradox of love, he longs,
Most humble when he most aspires,
To suffer scorn and cruel wrongs

From her he honours and desires. Her graces make him rich, and ask No guerdon; this imperial style Affronts him; he disdains to bask,

The pensioner of her priceless smile.
He prays for some hard thing to do,
Some work of fame and labour immense,
To stretch the languid bulk and thew

Of love's fresh-born magnipotence.
No smallest boon were bought too dear,
Though bartered for his love-sick life;
Yet trusts he, with undaunted cheer,

To vanquish heaven, and call her Wife. He notes how queens of sweetness still Neglect their crowns, and stoop to mate; How, self-consign'd with lavish will,

They ask but love proportionate; How swift pursuit by small degrees, Love's tactic, works like miracle; How valour, clothed in courtesies, Brings down the loftiest citadel; And therefore, though he merits not To kiss the braid upon her skirt, His hope discouraged ne'er a jot, Out-soars all possible desert.

BOOK I, CANTO VIII. PRELUDES
I. LIFE OF LIFE

What's that, which, ere I spake, was gone:
So joyful and intense a spark
That, whilst o'erhead the wonder shone,
The day, before but dull, grew dark?
I do not know; but this I know,

That, had the splendour lived a year,
The truth that I some heavenly show

Did see, could not be now more clear.
This know I too: might mortal breath
Express the passion then inspired,
Evil would die a natural death,

And nothing transient be desired;
And error from the soul would pass,
And leave the senses pure and strong
As sunbeams. But the best, alas,
Has neither memory nor tongue!

ΙΟ

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5

ΙΟ

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