My faith it is that all the wanton pack
Of living shall be--hush, poor heart!--withdrawn,
As even to the camel comes a dawn
Without a burden for his wounded back.


XLII

If there should be some truth in what they teach
Of unrelenting Monkar and Nakyr,
Before whose throne all buried men appear--
Then give me to the vultures, I beseech.


XLIII

Some yellow sand all hunger shall assuage
And for my thirst no cloud have need to roll,
And ah! the drooping bird which is my soul
No longer shall be prisoned in the cage.


XLIV

Life is a flame that flickers in the wind,
A bird that crouches in the fowler's net--
Nor may between her flutterings forget
That hour the dreams of youth were unconfined.