LXV
But in the noisy ranks you will forget What is the flag. Oh, comrade, fall aside And think a little moment of the pride Of yonder sun, think of the twilight's net.
LXVI
The songs we fashion from our new delight Are echoes. When the first of men sang out, He shuddered, hearing not alone the shout Of hills but of the peoples in the night.
LXVII
And all the marvels that our eyes behold Are pictures. There has happened some event For each of them, and this they represent-- Our lives are like a tale that has been told.
LXVIII
There is a palace, and the ruined wall Divides the sand, a very home of tears, And where love whispered of a thousand years The silken-footed caterpillars crawl.
LXIX
And where the Prince commanded, now the shriek Of wind is flying through the court of state: "Here," it proclaims, "there dwelt a potentate Who could not hear the sobbing of the weak."
LXX
Beneath our palaces the corner-stone Is quaking. What of noble we possess, In love or courage or in tenderness, Can rise from our infirmities alone.
LXXI
We suffer--that we know, and that is all Our knowledge. If we recklessly should strain To sweep aside the solid rocks of pain, Then would the domes of love and courage fall.
LXXII
But there is one who trembles at the touch Of sorrow less than all of you, for he Has got the care of no big treasury, And with regard to wits not overmuch.
LXXIII
I think our world is not a place of rest, But where a man may take his little ease, Until the landlord whom he never sees Gives that apartment to another guest.
LXXIV
Say that you come to life as 'twere a feast, Prepared to pay whatever is the bill Of death or tears or--surely, friend, you will Not shrink at death, which is among the least?
LXXV
Rise up against your troubles, cast away What is too great for mortal man to bear.
But seize no foolish arms against the share Which you the piteous mortal have to pay.
LXXVI
Be gracious to the King. You cannot feign That nobody was tyrant, that the sword Of justice always gave the just award Before these Ghassanites began to reign.
LXXVII
You cultivate the ranks of golden grain, He cultivates the cavaliers. They go With him careering on some other foe, And your battalions will be staunch again.
LXXVIII
The good law and the bad law disappear Below the flood of custom, or they float And, like the wonderful Sar'aby coat, They captivate us for a little year.
LXXIX
God pities him who pities. Ah, pursue No longer now the children of the wood; Or have you not, poor huntsman, understood That somebody is overtaking you?
LXXX
God is above. We never shall attain Our liberty from hands that overshroud; Or can we shake aside this heavy cloud More than a slave can shake aside the chain?
LXXXI
"There is no God save Allah!"--that is true, Nor is there any prophet save the mind Of man who wanders through the dark to find The Paradise that is in me and you.
LXXXII
The rolling, ever-rolling years of time Are as a diwan of Arabian song; The poet, headstrong and supremely strong, Refuses to repeat a single rhyme.
LXXXIII
An archer took an arrow in his hand; So fair he sent it singing to the sky That he brought justice down from--ah, so high!
He was an archer in the morning land.
LXXXIV