Zaburi Ajam [Electronic resources] نسخه متنی
لطفا منتظر باشید ...
52
The young beloved, the ancient wine,The maids of Paradise,These joys men reckon rare and fineCharm not the truly wise.Whateer eternal thou dost deem,Mountain, and sea, and shore,Land, plain, whateer assured doth seem,These pass, and are no more.The learning of the Westerner,The Easts philosophy,All is an idol-house of prayerAnd idols nothing be!Cross not this desert terrified;Fix on thy self thy thought;Thou only art, and all beside,Yea, all the world, is naught!Upon this way mine eyelashesHave quarried out of stone,Nor stage nor caravan there is,And shifting sands are none.