And say--We need no more thy drunkenness;
An exaltation that is more divine,
Another inspiration, we possess.

O praise not peacock youth; it flits away
And leaves us but the ashes of regret,
A disappointed heart, a memory,
An empty foolish pride that lingers yet.

Upon the path, Amir, we journey far,
Weary the road where mankind wandereth;
O tell me, does it lead through Life's bazar,
Or is it the dread gate and house of Death?

AMIR.




V.


Here can my heart no longer rest;
It tells my happy destiny,
Towards Medina lies my quest,
The Holy Prophet summons me.

I should not marvel if for flight
Upon my shoulders wings should start,
My body is so gay and light