He answered: “Patience and not haste be ours; And often in delay is safety found. Thou, dervish, must restrain thyself a while, For overhaste is slower in despatch. I bring thee to the bower of loveliness, To Cypress, who is porter of the gate. I hope by such expedient that the Rose May entertain thee as a man of truth.” So spoke to him the friend of purity And showed him where the Rose’s meadow lay; The Nightingale his footsteps followed fast Until they reached the garden of the Rose. XVIII HOW THE NIGHTINGALE ENTERED THE ROSE GARDEN THROUGH THE KINDLY OFFICES OF THE CYPRESS He saw a lofty building fair bedight Like the green castle of the firmament, A castle emerald-bright in radiance. It twinkled like a marshalled host in arms; Pure was the water, earth was sweet as musk. An air of sanctity and plenty reigned. Whoever came to this from Edentown Might think his resting-place was paradise. How could it fail to be a paradise For him who hoped to find his love therein? When the sad Nightingale beheld the place Breathless and lost in wonder did he stand. Above him was the arch of azure sky, And at his feet the lovely river ran. Then said the river: “Take good heed, and see Thou give some respite to thy burning heart; Meanwhile I stand me here, and as a man I introduce thee to the portal’s guard.” This said, he greeting to the Cypress sent. Right quick the Cypress was his word to heed. Low in the dust his countenance he laid And with his tears bedewed the thirsty ground. He said: “O Cypress, loftiest of mien, Thou sittest at the footstool of the great, I have a courteous word to speak to thee. Open thy lips to me, I beg of thee; For if thou lend me for a while thine ear, I know my prayer at once will be fulfilled. Here with a stranger destitute I come, To show how the road lay to this place. He is a man both kind and dutiful, Of purest disposition and intent; A dervish, and a man of loving heart. But he is lorn and sick from pangs of love, In outward guise he seems like a fakir, But in the realm of science he is prince. A genial friend, a comrade tender-hearted, Of blameless mind and sympathetic soul, A poet full of spiritual light Is he, and in imagination young.” XIX HOW THE WANDERING NIGHTINGALE ALONE IN THE NIGHT ABIDES WITH HIS SIGHS AND WEEPING TILL MORNING