Zaburi Ajam [Electronic resources] نسخه متنی

31

Although the soul, I know,

One day unveiled shall be,

Think not it shall be so

By writhing endlessly.

It needs a blow, to stir

The sleeping soul from earth

Unswept, the harp can ne’er

Bring melody to birth.

Thy cup replenish still

With tears and midnight sighs,

Replenish it until

The radiant sun shall rise.

So faint a mote thou art,

I fear thou’lt vanish quite;

Then fortify thy heart

To meet the morning light.

Transcend the dust, nor take

Thy self but dust to be;

If thou thy breast with break,

The moon shall shine from thee.

If in thy face they lock

The gate to selfhood’s shrine,

Strike head upon the rock

And see the ruby shine.