A deed magnanimous, a noble thought Are as the music singing thro' the years When surly Time the tyrant domineers Against the lute whereoutof it was wrought. XVI Now to the Master of the World resign Whatever touches you, what is prepared, For many sons of wisdom are ensnared And many fools in happiness recline. XVII Long have I tarried where the waters roll From undeciphered caverns of the main, And I have searched, and I have searched in vain, Where I could drown the sorrows of my soul. XVIII If I have harboured love within my breast, 'Twas for my comrades of the dusty day, Who with me watched the loitering stars at play, Who bore the burden of the same unrest. XIX For once the witcheries a maiden flung-- Then afterwards I knew she was the bride Of Death; and as he came, so tender-eyed, I--I rebuked him roundly, being young. XX Yet if all things that vanish in their noon Are but the part of some eternal scheme, Of what the nightingale may chance to dream Or what the lotus murmurs to the moon! XXI Have I not heard sagacious ones repeat An irresistibly grim argument: That we for all our blustering content Are as the silent shadows at our feet. XXII Aye, when the torch is low and we prepare Beyond the notes of revelry to pass-- Old Silence will keep watch upon the grass, The solemn shadows will assemble there. XXIII No Sultan at his pleasure shall erect A dwelling less obedient to decay Than I, whom all the mysteries obey, Build with the twilight for an architect. XXIV Dark leans to dark! the passions of a man Are twined about all transitory things, For verily the child of wisdom clings More unto dreamland than Arabistan. XXV Death leans to death! nor shall your vigilance Prevent him from whate'er he would possess, Nor, brother, shall unfilial peevishness Prevent you from the grand inheritance. XXVI Farewell, my soul!--bird in the narrow jail Who cannot sing. The door is opened! Fly! Ah, soon you stop, and looking down you cry The saddest song of all, poor nightingale. XXVII Our fortune is like mariners to float Amid the perils of dim waterways; Shall then our seamanship have aught of praise If the great anchor drags behind the boat? XXVIII Ah! let the burial of yesterday, Of yesterday be ruthlessly decreed, And, if you will, refuse the mourner's reed, And, if you will, plant cypress in the way. XXIX As little shall it serve you in the fight If you remonstrate with the storming seas, As if you querulously sigh to these Of some imagined haven of delight. XXX Steed of my soul! when you and I were young We lived to cleave as arrows thro' the night,-- Now there is ta'en from me the last of light, And wheresoe'er I gaze a veil is hung. XXXI No longer as a wreck shall I be hurled Where beacons lure the fascinated helm, For I have been admitted to the realm Of darkness that encompasses the world. XXXII