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Up from Earth's Centre through the Seventh Gate rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate; And many a Knot unravel'd by the Road; But not the Master-knot of Human Fate.
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The mighty Mahmud, Allah-breathing Lord That all the misbelieving and black Horde Of Fears and Sorrows that infest the Soul Scatters before him with his whirlwind Sword.
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Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say; Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?
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I sent my Soul through the Invisible, Some letter of that After-life to spell: And by and by my Soul return'd to me, And answer'd 'I Myself am Heav'n and Hell:'
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What! from his helpless Creature be repaid Pure Gold for what he lent him dross-allay'd - Sue for a Debt he never did contract, And cannot answer - Oh, the sorry trade!
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And this reviving Herb whose tender Green Fledges the River-Lip on which we lean - Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!
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A Hair perhaps divides the False and True; Yes; and a single Alif were the clue - Could you but find it - to the Treasure-house, And peradventure to The Master too;
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But if in vain, down on the stubborn floor Of Earth, and up to Heav'n's unopening Door You gaze To-day, while You are You - how then To-morrow, You when shall be You no more?
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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 - is gone.
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A Moment's Halt - a momentary taste Of Being from the Well amid the Waste - And Lo! - the phantom Caravan has reach'd The Nothing it set out from - Oh, make haste!
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Then of the Thee in Me works behind The Veil, I lifted up my hands to find A Lamp amid the Darkness; and I heard, As from Without - 'The Me Within Thee Blind!'
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A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou.
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Whose secret Presence, through Creation's veins Running Quicksilver-like eludes your pains; Taking all shapes from Mah to Mahi; and They change and perish all - but He remains;
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Then to the lip of this poor earthen Urn I lean'd, the Secret of my Life to learn: And Lip to Lip it murmur'd - 'While you live Drink! - for, once dead, you never shall return'.
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Living Life Tomorrow's fate, though thou be wise, Thou canst not tell nor yet surmise; Pass, therefore, not today in vain, For it will never come again.
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The Vine had struck a fibre: which about If clings my being - let the Dervish flout; Of my Base metal may be filed a Key, That shall unlock the Door he howls without.
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For 'Is' and 'Is-not' though with Rule and Line And 'Up' and 'Down' by Logic I define, Of all that one should care to fathom, Was never deep in anything but - Wine.
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And when like her, oh, Saki, you shall pass Among the Guests Star-scatter'd on the Grass, And in your joyous errand reach the spot Where I made One - turn down an empty Glass!
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Heav'n but the Vision of fulfill'd Desire, And Hell the Shadow from a Soul on fire, Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves, So late emerged from, shall so soon expire.
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'Why,' said another, 'Some there are who tell Of one who threatens he will toss to Hell The luckless Pots he marr'd in making - Pish! He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well'.
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Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend, Before we too into the Dust descend; Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and - sans End!
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Whereat some one of the loquacious Lot - I think a Sufi pipkin-waxing hot - 'All this of Pot and Potter - Tell me then, Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?'
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Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside, And naked on the Air of Heaven ride, Were't not a Shame - were't not a Shame for him In this clay carcase crippled to abide?
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Would but some wing'ed Angel ere too late Arrest the yet unfolded Roll of Fate, And make the stern Recorder otherwise Enregister, or quite obliterate!