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MANIAC of love, go, journey night and morn

Outside the sphere where sense and reason reign.

Rough are love’s ways and thorny; wouldst thou gain

The goal, tread warily. Footsore and worn

Rejoice. Delight in sorrow’s pangs is born

And love’s sweet guerdon on a bed of pain.

Fill thou thy bowl with tears, ere yet again

Thy turn comes round to drain the brimming horn.

To catch the skirts of purpose thou must bid

Farewell to life like Majnūn, lose thyself,

And rend the ties of sentiment and rid

Thy mind of thoughts of friends and place and pelf.

Not in thy hands but in thy heart is hid

Thy fortune. Lay thy weapons on the shelf.