Ode 465

DEEP in my heart there dwells a holy bird;
O but 't is weary of its earthly cage,
And in the dark of the body sadly sings;
Its heritage
Is the ninth heaven; its right is to be heard
Before high God; its royal nest should be—
For wide as the empyrean are its wings—
The Sidra tree.

When from the dunghill of this world it flies,
Bird of the soul, it stays not in its flight
Till on the top of heaven it proudly stands,
Far out of sight
Of the sad straining of our mortal eyes;
And wheresoever its rainbow shadows rest,
The folk go happy in those favoured lands
From East to West.

This earth, the lonely footstool of the stars,
Is not thy place, O HAFIZ; nay, such songs
Should fill the listening palaces of heaven;
To God belongs
Thy voice, sweet bird, behind these fleshly bars;
Thy singing pastures are those fields on high,
Heaven's roses and the dew that falls in heaven—
Bird of the sky.