"Gone, gone, where I and thou must go,
borne by the winnowing wings of Death,
"The Horror brooding over life,
and nearer brought with every breath:

"Their fame hath filled the Seven Climes,
they rose and reigned, they fought and fell,
"As swells and swoons across the wold
the tinkling of the Camel's bell."



V


There is no Good, there is no Bad;
these be the whims of mortal will:
What works me weal that call I 'good,'
what harms and hurts I hold as 'ill:'

They change with place, they shift with race;
and, in the veriest span of Time,
Each Vice has worn a Virtue's crown;
all Good was banned as Sin or Crime:

Like ravelled skeins they cross and twine,
while this with that connects and blends;
And only Khizr* his eye shall see
where one begins, where other ends: