And all my years, as vapid as my lay, Are bitter morsels of a mystic day,-- The day of Fate, who carries in his lap December snows and snow-white flowers of May. LXXXVI Allah, my sleep is woven through, it seems, With burning threads of night and golden beams; But when my dreams are evil they come true; When they are not, they are, alas! but dreams. LXXXVII The subtle ways of Destiny I know; In me she plays her game of "Give and Go." Misfortune I receive in cash, but joy, In drafts on Heaven or on the winds that blow. LXXXVIII I give and go, grim Destiny,--I play Upon this checker-board of Night and Day The dark game with thee, but the day will come When one will turn the Board the other way. LXXXIX If my house-swallow, laboring with zest, Felt like myself the burden of unrest, Unlightened by inscrutable designs, She would not build her young that cozy nest. XC Thy life with guiltless life-blood do not stain-- Hunt not the children of the woods; in vain Thou'lt try one day to wash thy bloody hand: Nor hunter here nor hunted long remain. XCI Oh! cast my dust away from thee, and doff Thy cloak of sycophancy and like stuff: I'm but a shadow on the sandy waste,-- Enough of thy duplicity, enough! XCII Behold! the Veil that hid thy soul is torn And all thy secrets on the winds are borne: The hand of Sin has written on thy face "Awake, for these untimely furrows warn!" XCIII A prince of souls, 'tis sung in ancient lay, One morning sought a vesture of the clay; He came into the Pottery, the fool-- The lucky fool was warned to stay away. XCIV But I was not. Oh! that the Fates decree That I now cast aside this clay of me; My soul and body wedded for a while Are sick and would that separation be. XCV "Thou shalt not kill!"--Thy words, O God, we heed, Though thy two Soul-devouring Angels feed Thy Promise of another life on this,-- To have spared us both, it were a boon indeed. XCVI Oh! that some one would but return to tell If old Nubakht is burning now in hell, Or if the workers for the Prophet's prize Are laughing at his Paradisal sell. XCVII Once I have tried to string a few Pearl-seeds Upon my Rosary of wooden beads; But I have searched, and I have searched in vain For pearls in all the caverns of the creeds XCVIII And in the palaces of wealth I found Some beads of wisdom scattered on the ground, Around the throne of Power, beneath the feet Of fair-faced slaves with flowers of folly crowned. XCIX Thy wealth can shed no tears around thy bier, Nor can it wash thy hands of shame and fear; Ere thou departest with it freely part,-- Let others plead for thee and God will hear. C For me thy silks and feathers have no charm The pillow I like best is my right arm; The comforts of this passing show I spurn, For Poverty can do the soul no harm. CI