Ah, many have I seen of those who fell While drawing, with a swagger, from the Well; They came with Rope and Bucket, and they went Empty of hand another tale to tell. XXXVIII The I in me standing upon the brink Would leap into the Well to get a drink; But how to rise once in the depth, I cry, And cowardly behind my logic slink. XXXIX And she: "How long must I the burden bear? How long this tattered garment must I wear?" And I: "Why wear it? Leave it here, and go Away without it--little do I care." XL But once when we were quarreling, the door Was opened by a Visitor who bore Both Rope and Pail; he offered them and said: "Drink, if you will, but once, and nevermore." XLI One draught, more bitter than the Zakkum tree, Brought us unto the land of mystery Where rising Sand and Dust and Flame conceal The door of every Caravanseri. XLII We reach a door and there the legend find. "To all the Pilgrims of the Human Mind: Knock and pass on!" We knock and knock and knock; But no one answers save the moaning wind. XLIII How like a door the knowledge we attain, Which door is on the bourne of the Inane; It opens and our nothingness is closed,-- It closes and in darkness we remain. XLIV Hither we come unknowing, hence we go; Unknowing we are messaged to and fro; And yet we think we know all things of earth And sky--the suns and stars we think we know. XLV Apply thy wit, O Brother, here and there Upon this and upon that; but beware Lest in the end--ah, better at the start Go to the Tinker for a slight repair. XLVI And why so much ado, and wherefore lay The burden of the years upon the day Of thy vain dreams? Who polishes his sword Morning and eve will polish it away. XLVII I heard it whispered in the cryptic streets Where every sage the same dumb shadow meets: "We are but words fallen from the lipe of Time Which God, that we might understand, repeats." XLVIII Another said: "The creeping worm hath shown, In her discourse on human flesh and bone, That Man was once the bed on which she slept-- The walking dust was once a thing of stone." XLIX And still another: "We are coins which fade In circulation, coins which Allah made To cheat Iblis: the good and bad alike Are spent by Fate upon a passing shade." L And in the pottery the potter cried, As on his work shone all the master's pride-- "How is it, Rabbi, I, thy slave, can make Such vessels as nobody dare deride?" LI The Earth then spake: "My children silent be; Same are to God the camel and the flea: He makes a mess of me to nourish you, Then makes a mess of you to nourish me." LII Now, I believe the Potter will essay Once more the Wheel, and from a better clay Will make a better Vessel, and perchance A masterpiece which will endure for aye. LIII