[Among the religious customs of the dervishes is an astronomical dance, in which the dervish imitates the movements of the heavenly bodies, by spinning on his own axis, whilst at the same time he revolves round the Sheikh in the centre, representing the sun; and, as he spins, he sings the Song of Seyd Nimetollah of Kuhistan.] Spin the ball! I reel, I burn, Nor head from foot can I discern, Nor my heart from love of mine, Nor the wine-cup from the wine. All my doing, all my leaving, Reaches not to my perceiving; Lost in whirling spheres I rove, And know only that I love. I am seeker of the stone, Living gem of Solomon; From the shore of souls arrived, In the sea of sense I dived; But what is land, or what is wave, To me who only jewels crave? Love is the air-fed fire intense, And my heart the frankincense; As the rich aloes flames, I glow, Yet the censer cannot know. I'm all-knowing, yet unknowing; Stand not, pause not, in my going. Ask not me, as Muftis can, To recite the Alcoran; Well I love the meaning sweet,-- I tread the book beneath my feet. Lo! the God's love blazes higher, Till all difference expire. What are Moslems? what are Giaours? All are Love's, and all are ours. I embrace the true believers, But I reck not of deceivers. Firm to Heaven my bosom clings, Heedless of inferior things; Down on earth there, underfoot, What men chatter know I not. * * * * * V APPENDIX * * * * * THE POET I Right upward on the road of fame With sounding steps the poet came; Born and nourished in miracles, His feet were shod with golden bells, Or where he stepped the soil did peal As if the dust were glass and steel. The gallant child where'er he came Threw to each fact a tuneful name. The things whereon he cast his eyes Could not the nations rebaptize, Nor Time's snows hide the names he set, Nor last posterity forget. Yet every scroll whereon he wrote In latent fire his secret thought, Fell unregarded to the ground, Unseen by such as stood around. The pious wind took it away, The reverent darkness hid the lay. Methought like water-haunting birds Divers or dippers were his words, And idle clowns beside the mere At the new vision gape and jeer. But when the noisy scorn was past, Emerge the wingèd words in haste. New-bathed, new-trimmed, on healthy wing, Right to the heaven they steer and sing.