3
Thou canst pass, like morning’s breeze,
Deep into the anemones,
With a single breath disclose
The locked secrets of the rose,
What is Life? The world, and all,
To make Spirit’s captive thrall;
Since the world has prisoned thee,
How shalt thou bring this to be?
‘Twas decreed, long since enow,
Sun and moon to thee should bow,
But as yet thou knowest not
How thou canst achieve, and what.
Take thou then a flask of wine
From this tavern that is mine,
And of one poor clod of earth
Thou shalt bring a world to birth.
Iqbal! What bright lamp is it
In thy bosom thou bast lit,
That the things thyself canst do
Thou in us canst fashion, too?