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.

And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky, Whereunder crawling cooped we live and die, Lift not your hands to It for help-for it As impotently moves as you or I

Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose! That Youths sweet-scented Manuscript should close!

Why ponder thus the future to foresee, and jade thy brain to vain perplexity? Cast off thy care, leave Allah’s plans to him – He formed them all without consulting thee.

The Revelations of Devout and Learn'd Who rose before us, and as Prophets burn'd, Are all but Stories, which, awoke from Sleep They told their comrades, and to Sleep return'd.

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

I hide my distress, just likethe blessed birds hide themselveswhen they are preparing to die. Wine! Wine, roses, music and yourindifference to my sadness, my loved-one!