With better skill he even will remould The scattered potsherds of the New and Old; Then you and I will not disdain to buy, Though in the mart of Iblis they be sold. LIV Sooth I have told the masters of the mart Of rusty creeds and Babylonian art Of magic. Now the truth about myself-- Here is the secret of my wincing heart. LV I muse, but in my musings I recall The days of my iniquity; we're all-- An arrow shot across the wilderness, Somewhither, in the wilderness must fall. LVI I laugh, but in my laughter-cup I pour The tears of scorn and melancholy sore; I who am shattered by the hand of Doubt, Like glass to be remoulded nevermore. LVII I wheedle, too, even like my slave Zeidun, Who robs at dawn his brother, and at noon Prostrates himself in prayer--ah, let us pray That Night might blot us and our sins, and soon. LVIII But in the fatal coils, without intent, We sin; wherefore a future punishment? They say the metal dead a deadly steel Becomes with Allah's knowledge and consent. LIX And even the repentant sinner's tear Falling into Juhannam's very ear, Goes to its heart, extinguishes its fire For ever and forever,--so I hear. LX Between the white and purple Words of Time In motley garb with Destiny I rhyme: The colored glasses to the water give The colors of a symbolry sublime. LXI How oft, when young, my brothers I would shun If their religious feelings were not spun Of my own cobweb, which I find was but A spider's revelation of the sun. LXII Now, mosques and churches--even a Kaaba Stone, Korans and Bibles--even a martyr's bone,-- All these and more my heart can tolerate, For my religion's love, and love alone. LXIII To humankind, O Brother, consecrate Thy heart, and shun the hundred Sects that prate About the things they little know about-- Let all receive thy pity, none thy hate. LXIV The tavern and the temple also shun, For sheikh and libertine in sooth are one; And when the pious knave begins to pule, The knave in purple breaks his vow anon. LXV "The wine's forbidden," say these honest folk, But for themselves the law they will revoke; The snivelling sheikh says he's without a garb, When in the tap-house he had pawned his cloak. LXVI Or in the house of lust. The priestly name And priestly turban once were those of Shame-- And Shame is preaching in the pulpit now-- If pulpits tumble down, I'm not to blame. LXVII For after she declaims upon the vows Of Faith, she pusillanimously bows Before the Sultan's wine-empurpled throne, While he and all his courtezans carouse. LXVIII Carouse, ye sovereign lords! The wheel will roll Forever to confound and to console: Who sips to-day the golden cup will drink Mayhap to-morrow in a wooden bowl-- LXIX