XI*
With me along the strip of Herbage strewn
That just divides the desert from the sown,
Where name of Slave and Sultán is forgot —
And Peace to Mahmúd on his golden Throne!
XII*
A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread — and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness —
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!
XIII*
Some for the Glories of this World; and some
Sigh for the Prophet’s Paradise to come;
Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go,
Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!*
XIV*
Look to the blowing Rose about us — “Lo,
“Laughing,” she says, “into the world I blow,
“At once the silken tassel of my Purse
“Tear, and its Treasure* on the Garden throw.”