19.
Though we be drunk, our Faith is all in Thee,
Weak and Unstable, still our Faith’s in Thee,
Guebres, or Nazarenes, or Musulmāns,
Whate’er our Creed, our Faith is Thine, and Thee.
20.
Happy is he who’s nigh to Thee in heart,
Who from Thy Teachings never need depart;
Too feeble to approach Thee, I can still
Consort with Those who know Thee as Thou art.
21.
Come ye Initiates, let no one fail;
Form we a Circle and our Woes bewail,
Bring Scales and our Fanaticism weigh,
The most Ecstatic most shall tip the Scale.
22.
The Sea within a Cup—this is my Gauge,
The Dotted Letter that completes the page,
One in a Million’s such a Man as I,
I am the bright Exemplar of my age.
23.
Sweeter than Hyacinths to me is borne
The Breeze that, sighing, from thy Curls is torn;
All night when I have pressed thy Picture close
The scent of Roses fills my Couch at Dawn.
24.
Ah, when will Health to my Sick Heart return!
The Good Advice I give it does but spurn.
Flung to the Winds, ’twill not be borne away,
Cast in the Flames, alas, it will not burn.
25.
What Flame-singed Moth’s as blundering as I?
On such a Madman who would waste a Sigh?
Even the Ants and Serpents have their nests,
But I have not a Ruin where to lie.
26.
For Love of Thee my Heart is filled with Woe,
My Couch the Earth, my Pillow is as low,
My only Sin is loving thee too well.
Surely not all thy Lovers suffer so?
27.
Spare me the sight of thy Dishevelled Hair,
The sight of Tears in those thine Eyes most fair,
Thou would’st deprive me of the Sun, thy Love,—
Oh, plunge me not too soon in Night’s Despair.
28.
When thou art absent Sorrow dims my sight,
My Tree of Hope is barren of Delight,
And I, when thou art absent, all alone
Sit, and shall sit until my Soul takes flight.
29.
Without thee is my Heart in Mourning clad,
Show but thy Face, and straightway I am glad;
If all men had a share in my Heart’s Grief,
No Heart in all the World but would be sad.
30.
Nought can the Meadows of my Fancy show
Save only Grief’s sad-coloured Rose in blow,
From my poor Heart, ’tis such an Arid waste,
Even Despair’s pale Herbage will not grow.
31.
The Lover and the Loved are so much One,
Each endeth where the Other is begun;
My Heart with my Belovéd’s little Heart
Is interwove like Fabric closest spun.
32.
I’m a green Log fresh cut from off the Tree,
O Heart of Stone, thou burnest not for me,—
Though who, indeed, expects a Stone to burn?
But I must smoulder till I kindle thee.
33.
My Heart is nigh distraught with Love’s Emprise,
Tears gush in Torrents from my throbbing Eyes.
A Lover’s Heart is like a fresh-hewn Log,
One end sheds Sap, Flames from the other rise.
34.
By him who knoweth Grief, may Grief be told,
Just as the Expert can divine Pure Gold,
And who but an Initiate shall gain
The Knowledge his Initiations hold?
35.
The Heart of Man, you say, is prone to Sin,
Oh yes! but did not first the Eyes begin?
If on the tempting Face they did not look,
The Heart, unknowing, would be Pure within.
36.
O thou whose eyes are shadowy with kohl,
O thou whose slender figure works my Dole,
Whose locks with musk are laden, art thou dumb,
That thus with Silence thou shouldst rend my Soul?
37.
O thou hast caused a Thousand Hearts deep pain,
More than a Thousand sigh for thee in vain,
I’ve counted far more than a thousand Scars
Of thine inflicting, and yet More remain.