In this clay carcase crippled to abide?

'Tis but a tent where takes his one-day's rest
A Sultan to the realm of Death addrest;
The Sultan rises, and the dark Ferrásh
Strikes, and prepares it for another guest.

And fear not lest Existence, closing your
Account, and mine, shall know the like no more;
The Eternal Sáki from that bowl hath pour'd
Millions of bubbles like us, and will pour.

When you and I behind the veil are past,
Oh, but the long, long while the world shall last,
Which of our coming and departure heeds
As the Sev'n Seas shall heed a pebble-cast.

A moment's halt - a momentary taste
Of Being from the Well amid the waste,
And lo! - the phantom caravan has reach'd
The Nothing it set out from - O, make haste!

* * *

There was the door to which I found no key;
There was the veil through which I could not see:
Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee
There was - and then no more of Thee and Me.

* * *