And some to Meccah turn to pray, and I toward thy bed, Yasmin.

For the spear was a desert physician, That cured not a few of ambition, And drave not a few to perdition, With medicine bitter and strong.

And some to Meccah turn to pray, and I toward thy bed, Yasmin.

For lust of knowing what should not be known, we take the Golden Road to Samarkand.

It is not the poet's business to save man's soul but to make it worth saving . . . However, few poets have written with a clear theory of art for art's sake, it is by that theory alone that their work has been, or can be, judged; -and rightly so if we remember that art embraces all life and all humanity, and sees in the temporary and fleeting doctrines of conservative or revolutionary only the human grandeur or passion that inspires them.

The poet's business is not to save the soul of man but to make it worth saving.