What meaning have my knowledge and my skill,
They have no worth to me.

Lo, thou hast made me as the dust that flies
Unheeded in the street,
O were I that which in her pathway lies,
Trodden beneath her feet!

My heart is as it were to fringes shred,
Such wounds it had to bear;
Would that it were the comb, to touch her head,
To tend her perfumed hair!

Long have I known that it was thy design
To burn my soul outright;
O may at least the happy fate be mine
To be the Tavern light!

ZAFAR.




XLIII.


Mine eyes were shut
And yet I saw the shining vision gleam;
Now that mine eyes are opened, know I not
Was it a thought that held me--or a dream?