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And would you weep a whole week on my tomb? Then be a little happy--that I died. And would you see some face that looked like mine, And love it, love--because it looked like mine! " And kiss the face so wondrously like mine! Then would you bring him softly where the rose Showered its petals upon my repose, And shed two tears together on my tomb-Strange are the ways of grief--who knows--who knows! Night with a sudden splendour opens wide Her purple robe, and bares her silver side, The moon, her bosom, fills the world with light,-Only thy breast is lowlier, my bride.
I am not fit for hell--I am too small; For heaven I am too heretical; I love both places, yet not one enough-'Twixt the two stools I fall, and fall, and fall. O dearer than the soul that gives me breath, Dearer than life, as the old proverb saith; Nay, that is but a sorry compliment,-For thou, my love, art dearer even than death. Face like a glass wherein all heaven lies, A firmament reflected in two eyes, Thanks to your heaven I am deep in hell, The shadow of your laughter is my sighs. My cheeks like hollow cups are filled with tears, My body is a haunted house of fears, My heart is like a wine-jar filled with blood-- O God!
Forgetful unforgotten, I have found No face again like thine, nor thy profound Sad eyes again, nor heard in all the world As thy blest voice again so sweet a sound. O sufi, dervish, subtle kalendar, How very thirsty all your questions are! I cannot answer them unless I lean Upon the perfumed lip of yonder jar. So great a brightness is the soul of wine That even in the darkness it will shine, And cocks will crow, mistaking for the dawn The apparition of its light divine. Well might a world without it so forlorn Mistake the glorious wine-cup for the morn, 'Tis the true morning, there is none beside-- Wine was the happy morning I was born.