The Parliament of Birds

There lived a king; his comeliness was such
The world could not acclaim his charm too much.
The world's wealth seemed a portion of his grace;
It was a miracle to view his face.
If he had rivals, then I know of none;
The earth resounded with this paragon.
When riding through his streets he did not fail
To hide his features with a scarlet veil.
Whoever scanned the veil would lose his head;
Whoever spoke his name was left for dead,
The tongue ripped from his mouth; whoever thrilled
With passion for this king was quickly killed.
A thousand for his love expired each day,
And those who saw his face, in blank dismay
Would rave and grieve and mourn their lives away --
To die for love of that bewitching sight
Was worth a hundred lives without his light.
None could survive his absence patiently,
None could endure this king's proximity --
How strange it was that men could neither brook
The presence nor the absence of his look!
Since few could bear his sight, they were content
To hear the king in sober argument,
But while they listened they endured such pain
As made them long to see their king again.
The king commanded mirrors to be placed
About the palace walls, and when he faced
Their polished surfaces his image shone
With mitigated splendour to the throng.

If you would glimpse the beauty we revere
Look in your heart -- its image will appear.
Make of your heart a looking-glass and see
Reflected there the Friend's nobility;
Your sovereign's glory will illuminate
The palace where he reigns in proper state.
Search for this king within your hear; His soul
Reveals itself in atoms of the Whole.
The multitude of forms that masquerade
Throughout the world spring from the Simorgh's shade.
If you catch sight of His magnificence
It is His shadow that beguiles your glance;
The Simorgh's shadow and Himself are one;
Seek them together, twinned in unison.
But you are lost in vague uncertainty ...
Pass beyond shadows to Reality.
How can you reach the Simorgh's splendid court?
First find its gateway, and the sun, long-sought,
Erupts through clouds; when victory is won,
Your sight knows nothing but the blinding sun.

When Alexander, that unconquered lord,
Who subjugated empires with his sword,
Required a lengthy message to be sent
He dressed up as the messenger and went.
'The king gives an order,' he would say,
And none of those who hurried to obey
Once guessed this messenger's identity --
They had no knowledge of such majesty.
And even if he said: 'I am your lord',
The claim was thought preposterous and ignored.
Deluded natures cannot recognise
The royal way that stands before their eyes.

Ayaz, afflicted with the Evil Eye,
Fell ill. For safety he was forced to lie
Sequestered from the court, in loneliness.
The king (who loved him) heard of his distress
And called a servant. 'Tell Ayaz,' he said,
'What tears of sympathy I daily shed.
Tell him that I endure his suffering,
And hardly comprehend I am the king;
My soul is with him (though my flesh is here)
And guards his bed solicitous with fear;
Ayaz, what could this Evil Eye not do,
If it destroys such loveliness as you!'
The king was silent; then again he spoke:
'Go quickly as a fire, return like smoke;
Stop nowhere, but outrun the brilliant flash
That lights the world before the thunder's crash.
Go now; if you so much as pause for breath
My anger will pursue you after death.'
The servant scuttled off, consumed with dread,
And like the wind arrived at Ayaz' bed --
There sat his sovereign, by the patient's head!
Aghast, the servant trembled for his life
And pictured in his mind the blood-smeared knife.
'My king,' he said, 'I swear, I swear indeed,
That I have hurried here with utmost speed --
Although I see you here I cannot see
How in the world you have preceded me;
Believe my innocence, and if I lie
I am a heathen and deserve to die.'
His sovereign answered him: 'You could not know
The hidden ways by which we lovers go;
I cannot bear my life without his face,
And every minute I am in this place.
The passing world outside is unaware
Of mysteries Ayaz and Mahmoud share;
In public I ask after him, although
Behind the veil of secrecy I know
Whatever news my messengers could give;
I hide my secret and in secret live'."

An ancient secret yielded to the birds
When they understood the hoopoe's words --
Their kinship with the Simorgh was now plain
And all were eager to set off again.
The homily returned them to the Way
And with one voice the birds were heard to say:
"Tell us, dear hoopoe, how we should proceed --
Our weakness quails before this glorious deed."

"A lover," said the hoopoe, now their guide,
"Is one in whom all thoughts of Self have died;
Those who renounce the Self deserve that name;
Righteous or sinful, they are all the same!
Your heart is thwarted by the Self's control;
Destroy its hold on you and reach your goal.
Give up this hindrance, give up mortal sight,
For only then can you approach the light.
If you are told: 'Renounce our Faith', obey!
The Self and Faith must both be tossed away;
Blasphemers call such actions blasphemy --
Tell them that love exceeds mere piety.
Love has no time for blasphemy or faith,
Nor lovers for the Self, that feeble wraith.
They burn all that they own; unmoved they feel
Against their skin the torturer's sharp steel.
Heart's blood and bitter pain belong to love,
And tales of problems no one can remove;
Cupbearer, fill the bowl with blood, not wine --
And if you lack the heart's rich blood take mine.
Love thrives on inextinguishable pain,
Which tears the soul, then knits the threads again.
A mote of love exceeds all bounds; it gives
The vital essence to whatever lives.
But where love thrives, there pain is always found;
Angels alone escape this weary round --
They love without that savage agony
Which is reserved for vexed humanity.
Islam and blasphemy have both been passed
By those who set out on love's path at last;
Love will direct you to Dame Poverty,
And she will show the way to Blasphemy.
When neither Blasphemy nor Faith remain,
The body and the Self have both been slain;
Then the fierce fortitude the Way will ask
Is yours, and you are worthy of our task.
Begin the journey without fear; be calm;
Forget what is and what is not Islam;
Put childish dread aside -- like heroes meet
The hundred problems which you must defeat.

Sam'an was once the first man of his time.
Whatever praise can be expressed in rhyme
Belonged to him: for fifty years this sheikh
Kept Mecca's holy place, and for his sake
Four hundred pupils entered learning's way.
He mortified his body night and day,
Knew theory, practice, mysteries of great age,
And fifty times had made the Pilgrimage.
He fasted, prayed, observed all sacred laws --
Astonished saints and clerics thronged his doors.
He split religious hairs in argument;
His breath revived the sick and impotent.
He knew the people's hearts in joy and grief
And was their living symbol of Belief.
Though conscious of his credit in their sight,
A strange dream troubled him, night after night;
Mecca was left behind; he lived in Rome,
The temple where he worshipped was his home,
And to an idol he bowed down his head.
'Alas!' he cried, when awoke in dread,
'Like Joseph I am in a well of need
And have no notion when I shall be freed.
But every man meets problems on the Way,
And I shall conquer if I watch and pray.
If I can shift this rock my path is clear;
If not, then I must wait and suffer here.'
Then suddenly he burst out: 'It would seem
That Rome could show the meaning of this dream;
There I must go!' And off the old man strode;
Four hundred followed him along the road.
They left the Ka'abah* for Rome's boundaries,
A gentle landscape of low hills and trees,
Where, infinitely lovelier than the view,
There sat a girl, a Christian girl who knew
The secrets of her faith's theology.
A fairer child no man could hope to see --
In beauty's mansion she was like a sun
That never set -- indeed the spoils she won
Where headed by the sun himself, whose face
Was pale with jealousy and sour disgrace.
The man about whose heart her ringlets curled
Became a Christian and renounced the world;
The man who saw her lips and knew defeat
Embraced the earth before her bonny feet.'
And as the breeze passed through her musky hair
The men of Rome watched wondering in despair.
Her eyes spoke promises to those in love,
Their fine brows arched coquettishly above --
Those brows sent glancing messages that seemed
To offer everything her lovers dreamed.
The pupils of her eyes grew wide and smiled,
And countless souls were glad to be beguiled;
The face beneath her curls glowed like soft fire;
Her honeyed lips provoked the world's desire;
But those who thought to feast there found her eyes
Held pointed daggers to protect the prize,
And since she kept her counsel no one knew --
Despite the claims of some -- what she would do.
Her mouth was tiny as a needle's eye,
Her breath as quickening as Jesus' sigh;
Her chin was dimpled with a silver well
In which a thousand drowning Josephs fell;
A glistering jewel secured her hair in place,
Which like a veil obscured her lovely face.
The Christian turned, the dark veil was removed,
A fire flashed through the old man's joints -- he loved!
One hair converted hundreds; how could he
Resist that idol's face shown openly?
He did not know himself; in sudden fire
He knelt abjectly as the flames beat higher;
In that sad instant all he had been fled
And passion's smoke obscured his heart and head.
Love sacked his heart; the girl's bewitching hair
Twined round his faith impiety's smooth snare.
The sheikh exchanged religion's wealth for shame,
A hopeless heart submitted to love's fame.
'I have no faith,' he cried. 'The heart I gave
Is useless now; I am the Christian's slave.'
When his disciples saw him weeping there
And understood the truth of the affair
They stared, confounded by his frantic grief,
And strove to call him back to his belief.
Their remonstrations fell on deafened ears;
Advice has no effect when no one hears.
In turn the sheikh's disciples had their say;
Love has no cure, and he could not obey.
(When did a lover listen to advice?
When did a nostrum cool love's flames to ice?)
Till evening came he could not move but gazed
With stupefaction in his face, amazed.

When gloomy twilight spread its darkening shrouds --
Like blasphemy concealed by guilty clouds --
His ardent heart gave out the only light,
And loved increased a hundredfold that night.
He put aside the Self and selfish lust;
In grief he smeared his locks with filth and dust
And kept his haunted vigil, watched and wept,
Lay trembling in love's grip and never slept.
'O Lord, when will this darkness end?' he cried,
'Or is it that the heavenly sun has died?
Those night I passed in faith's austerities
Cannot compare with this night's agonies;
But like a candle now my flame burns high
To weep all night and in the daylight die.
Ambush and blood have been my lot this night;
Who knows what torments day will bring to light?
This fevered darkness and my wretched state
Were made when I was made, and are my fate;
The night continues and the hours delay --
Perhaps the world has reached its Judgement Day;
Perhaps the sun's extinguished with my sighs,
Or hides in shame from my belovèd's eyes.
This long, dark night is like her flowing hair --
The thought in absence comforts my despair,
But love consumes me through this endless night --
I yield to love, unequal to the fight.
Where is there time enough to tell my grief?
Where is the patience to regain belief?
Where is the luck to waken me, or move
Love's idol to reciprocate my love?
Where is the reason that could rescue me,
Or by some trick prove my auxiliary?
Where is the hand to pour dust on my head,
Or lift me from the dust where I lie dead?
Where is the foot that seeks the longed-for place?
Where is the eye to show me her fair face?
Where is the loved one to relieve my pain?
Where is the guide to help me turn again?
Where is the strength to utter my complaint?
Where is the mind to counsel calm restraint?
The loved one, reason, patience -- all are gone
And I remain to suffer love alone.'

At this the fond disciples gathered round,
Bewildered by his groans' pathetic sound.
'My sheikh,' urged one, 'forget this evil sight;
Rise, cleanse yourself according to our rite.'
'In blood I cleanse myself,' the sheikh replied;
'In blood, a hundred times, my life is dyed.'
Another asked, 'Where is your rosary?'
He said: 'I fling the beads away from me;
The Christian's belt** is my sole sanctuary!'
One urged him to repent; he said, 'I do,
Of all I was, all that belonged thereto.'
One counselled prayer; he said: 'Where is her face
That I may pray toward that blessèd place?'
Another cried: 'Enough of this; you must
Seek solitude and in repentant dust
Bow down to God.' 'I will,' replied the sheikh,
'Bow down in dust, but for my idol's sake.'
And one reproached him: 'Have you no regret
For Islam and those rites you would forget?'
He said: 'No man repents past folly more;
Why is it I was not in love before?'
Another said: 'A demon’s poisoned dart --
Unknown to you -- has pierced your trusting heart.'
The sheikh said: 'If a demon straight from hell
Deceives me, I rejoice and wish her well.'
One said: 'Our noble sheikh has lost his way;
Passion has led his wandering wits astray.'
'True, I have lost the fame I once held dear,'
Replied their sheikh, 'and fraud as well, and fear.'
One said: 'You break our hearts with this disgrace.'
He laughed: 'The Christian's heart will take their place.'
One said: 'Stay with old friends awhile, and come --
We'll seek the Ka'abah’s shade and journey home.'
The sheikh replied: 'A Christian monastery
And not the Ka'abah's shade suffices me.'
One said: 'Return to Mecca and repent!'
He answered: 'Leave me here, I am content.'
One said: 'You travel on hell's road.' 'This sigh
Would shrivel seven hells' was his reply.
One said: 'In hope of heaven turn again.'
He said: 'Her face is heaven; I remain.'
One said: 'Before our God confess your shame.'
He replied: 'God Himself has lit this flame.'
One said: 'Stop vacillating now and fight;
Defend the ways our faith proclaims as right.'
He said: 'Prepare your ears for blasphemy;
An infidel does not prate piety.'
Their words could not recall him to belief,
And slowly they grew silent, sunk in grief.
They watched; each felt the heart within him fail,
Fearful of deeds Fate hid beneath her veil.

At last white day displayed her golden shield;
Black night declined his head, compelled to yield --
The world lay drowned in sparkling light, and dawn
Disclosed the sheikh, still wretched and forlorn,
Disputing with stray dogs the place before
His unattainable belovèd's door.
There in the dust he knelt, till constant prayers
Made him resemble one of her dark hairs;
A patient month he waited day and night
To glimpse the radiance of her beauty's light.
At last fatigue and sorrow made him ill --
Her street became his bed and he lay still.
When he perceived he would -- and could -- not move,
She understood the fury of his love,
But she pretended ignorance and said:
'What is it, sheikh? Why is our street your bed?
How can a Moslem sleep where Christians tread?'
He answered her: 'I have no need to speak;
You know why I am wasted, pale and weak.
Restore the heart you stole, or let me see
Some glimmer in your heart of sympathy;
In all your pride find some affection for
The grey-haired, lovesick stranger at your door.
Accept my love or kill me now -- your breath
Revives me or consigns me here to death.
Your face and curls command my life; beware
Of how the breeze displays your vagrant hair;
The sight breeds fever in me, and your deep
Hypnotic eyes induce love's restless sleep.
Love mists my eyes, love burns my heart -- alone,
Impatient and unloved, I weep and groan;
See what a sack of sorrow I have sewn!
I give my soul and all the world to burn,
And endless tears are all I hope to earn.
My eyes beheld your face, my heart despaired;
What I have seen and suffered none have shared.
My heart has turned to blood; how long must I
Subsist on misery? You need not try
To humble wretchedness, or kick the foe
Who in the dust submissively bows low.
It is my fortune to lament and wait --
When, if, love answers me depends on Fate.
My soul is ambushed here, and in your street
Relives each night the anguish of defeat;
Your threshold's dust receives my prayers -- I give
As cheap as dust the soul by which I live.
How long outside your door must I complain?
Relent a moment and relieve my pain.
You are the sun and I a shadow thrown
By you -- how then can I survive alone?
Though pain has worn me to a shadow's edge,
Like sunlight I shall leap your window's ledge;
Let me come in and I shall secretly
Bring seven heavens' happiness with me.
My soul is burnt to ash; my passion's fire
Destroys the world with unappeased desire.
Love binds my feet and I cannot depart;
Love holds the hand pressed hard against my heart.
My fainting soul dissolves in deathly sighs --
How long must you stay hidden from my eyes?'

She laughed: 'You shameless fool, take my advice --
Prepare yourself for death and paradise!
Forget flirtatious games, your breath is cold;
Stop chasing love, remember you are old.
It is a shroud you need, not me! How could
You hope for wealth when you must beg for food?'
He answered her: 'Say what you will, but I
In love's unhappy torments live and die;
To Love, both young and old are one -- his dart
Strikes with unequalled strength in every heart.'
The girl replied: 'There are four things you must
Perform to show that you deserve my trust:
Burn the Koran, drink wine, seal up Faith's eye,
Bow down to images.' And in reply
The sheikh declared: 'Wine I will drink with you;
The rest are things that I could never do.'
She said: 'If you agree to my commands,
To start with, you must wholly wash your hands
Of Islam's faith -- the love which does not care
To bend to love's requests is empty air.'
He yielded then: 'I must and will obey;
I'll do whatever you are pleased to say.
Your slave submits -- lead me with ringlets twined
As chains about my neck; I am resigned!'
She smiled: 'Come then and drink,' and he allowed
Her to escort him to a hall (the crowd
Of scholars followed, weeping and afraid)
Where Christians banqueted, and there a maid
Of matchless beauty passed the cup around.
Love humbled our poor sheikh -- without a sound
He gave his heart into the Christian's hands;
His mind had fled, he bowed to her commands,
And from those hands he took the proffered bowl;
He drank, oblivion overwhelmed his soul.
Wine mingled with his love -- her laughter seemed
To challenge him to take the bliss he dreamed.
Passion flared up in him; again he drank,
And slave-like at her feet contented sank --
This sheikh who had the whole Koran by heart
Felt wine spread through him and his faith depart;
Whatever he had known deserted him,
Wine conquered and his intellect grew dim;
Wine sluiced away his conscience; she alone
Lived in his heart, all other thoughts had flown.
Now love grew violent as an angry sea,
He watched drink and moved instinctively --
Half-fuddled with the wine -- to touch her neck.
But she drew back and held his hand in check,
Deriding him: 'What do you want, old man?
Old hypocrite of love, who talks but can
Do nothing else? To prove your love declare
That your religion is my rippling hair.
Love's more than childish games, if you agree --
For love -- to imitate my blasphemy
You can embrace me here; if not, you may
Take up your stick and hobble on your way.'
The abject sheikh had sunk to such a state
That he could not resist his wretched fate;
Now ignorant of shame and unafraid,
He heard the Christian's wishes and obeyed --
The old wind sidled through the old man's veins
And like a twisting compass turned his brains;
Old wine, young love, a lover far too old,
Her soft arms welcoming -- could he be cold?
Beside himself with love and drink he cried:
'Command me now; whatever you decide
I will perform. I spurned idolatry
When sober, but your beauty is to me
An idol for whose sake I'll gladly burn
My faith's Koran.' 'Now you begin to learn,
Now you are mine, dear sheikh,' she said. 'Sleep well,
Sweet dreams; our ripening fruit begins to swell.'

News spread among the Christians that this sheikh
Had chosen their religion for love's sake.
They took him to a nearby monastery,
Where he accepted their theology;
He burnt his dervish cloak and set his face
Against the faith and Mecca's holy place --
After so many years of true belief,
A young girl brought this learnèd sheikh to grief.
He said: 'This dervish has been well betrayed;
The agent was mere passion for a maid.
I must obey her now -- what I have done
Is worse than any crime beneath the sun.'
(How many leave the faith through wine! It is
The mother of such evil vagaries.)
'Whatever you required is done,' he said.
'What more remains? I have bowed down my head
In love's idolatry, I have drunk wine;
May no one pass through wretchedness like mine!
Love ruins one like me, and black disgrace
Now stares a once-loved dervish in the face.
For fifty years I walked an open road
While in my heart high seas of worship flowed;
Love ambushed me and at its sudden stroke
For Christian garments I gave up my cloak;
The Ka'abah has become love's secret sign,
And homeless love interprets the Divine.
Consider what, for your sake, I have done --
Then tell me, when shall we two be as one?
Hope for that moment justifies my pain;
Have all my troubles been endured in vain?'
The girl replied: 'But you are poor, and I
Cannot be cheaply won -- the price is high;
Bring gold, and silver too, you innocent --
Then I might pity your predicament;
But you have neither, therefore go -- and take
A beggar's alms from me; be off, old sheikh!
Be on your travels like the sun -- alone;
Be manly now and patient, do not groan!'
'A fine interpretation of your vow,'
The sheikh replied; 'my love, look at me now --
I have no one but you; your cypress gait,
Your silver form, decide my wretched fate.
Take back your cruel command; each moment you
Confuse me by demanding something new.
I have endured your absence, promptly done
All you have asked -- what profit have I won?
I've passed beyond loss, profit, Islam, crime,
For how much longer must I bide my time?
Is this what we agreed? My friends have gone,
Despising me, and I am here alone.
They follow one way, you another -- I
Stand witless here uncertain where to fly;
I know without you heaven would be hell,
Hell heaven with you; more I cannot tell.'
At last his protestations moved her heart,
'You are too poor to play the bridegroom's part,'
She said, 'but be my swineherd for a year
And then we'll stay together, never fear.'
The sheikh did not refuse -- a fractious way
Estranges love; he hurried to obey.
This reverend sheikh kept swine -- but who does not
Keep something swinish in his nature's plot?
Do not imagine only he could fall;
This hidden danger lurks within us all,
Rearing its bestial head when we begin
To tread salvation's path -- if you think sin
Has no place in your nature, you can stay
Content at home; you are excused the Way.
But if you start our journey you will find
That countless swine and idols tease the mind --
Destroy these hindrances to love or you
Must suffer that disgrace the sad sheikh knew.

Despair unmanned his friends; they saw his plight
And turned in helpless horror from the sight --
The dust of grief anointed each bowed head;
But one approached the hapless man and said:
'We leave for Mecca now, O weak-willed sheikh;
Is there some message you would have us take?
Or should we all turn Christians and embrace
This faith men call a blasphemous disgrace?
We get no pleasure from the thought of you
Left here alone -- shall we be Christians too?
Or since we cannot bear your state should we,
Deserting you, incontinently flee;
Forget that you exist and live in prayer
Beside the Ka'abah's stone without a care?'
The sheikh replied: 'What grief has filled my heart!
Go where you please -- but quickly, now, depart;
Only the Christian keeps my soul alive,
And I shall stay with her while I survive.
Though you are wise your wisdom cannot know
The wild frustrations through which lovers go.
If for one moment you could share my pain,
We could be old companions once again.
But now go back, dear friends; if anyone
Asks after me explain what I have done --
Say that my eyes swim blood, that parched I wait
Trapped in the gullet of a monstrous fate.
Say Islam's elder has outsinned the whole
Of heathen blasphemy, that self-control
Slipped from him when he saw the Christian's hair,
That faith was conquered by insane despair.
Should anyone reproach my actions, say
That countless others have pursued this Way,
This endless Way where no one is secure,
Where danger waits and issues are unsure.'
He turned from them; a swineherd sought his swine.
His friends wept vehemently -- their sheikh's decline
Seemed death to them. Sadly they journeyed home,
Resigning their apostate sheikh to Rome.

They skulked in corners, shameful and afraid.
A close companion of the sheikh had stayed
In Mecca while the group had journeyed west --
A man of wisdom, fit for any test,
Who, seeing now the vacant oratory
Where once his friend had worshipped faithfully,
Asked after their lost sheikh. In tears then they
Described what had occurred along the way;
How he had bound his fortunes to her hair,
And blocked the path of faith with love's despair;
How curls usurped belief and how his cloak
Had been consumed in passion's blackening smoke;
How he'd become a swineherd, how the four
Acts contrary to all Islamic law
Had been performed by him, how this great sheikh
Lived like a pagan for his lover's sake.
Amazement seized the friend -- his face grew pale,
He wept and felt the heart within him fail.
'O criminals!' he cried. 'O frailer than
Weak women in your faith -- when does a man
Need faithful friends but in adversity?
You should be there, not prattling here to me.
Is this devoted love? Shame on you all,
Fair-weather friends who run when great men fall.
He put on Christian garments -- so should you;
He took their faith -- what else had you to do?
This was no friendship, to forsake your friend,
To promise your support and at the end
Abandon him -- this was sheer treachery.
Friend follows friend to hell and blasphemy --
When sorrows come a man's true friends are found;
In times of joy ten thousand gather round.
Our sheikh is savaged by some shark -- you race
To separate yourselves from his disgrace.
Love's built on readiness to share love's shame;
Such self-regarding love usurps love's name.'
'Repeatedly we told him all you say,'
They cried. 'We were companions of the Way,
Sworn to a common happiness or grief;
We should exchange the honours of belief
For odium and scorn; we should accept
The Christian cult our sheikh could not reject.
But he insisted that we leave -- our love
Seemed pointless then; he ordered us to move.
At his express command we journeyed here
To tell his story plainly, without fear.'

He answered them: 'However hard the fight,
You should have fought for what was clearly right.
Truth struggled there with error; when you went
You only worsened his predicament.
You have abandoned him; how could you dare
To enter Mecca's uncorrupted air?'
They heard his speech; not one would raise his head.
And then, 'There is no point in shame,' he said.
'What's done is done, we must act justly now,
Bury this sin, seek out the sheikh and bow
Before him once again.' They left their home
And made their way a second time to Rome;
They prayed a hundred thousand prayers -- at times
With hope, at times disheartened by their crimes.
They neither ate nor slept but kept their gaze
Unswerving throughout forty nights and days.
Their wailing lamentations filled the sky,
Moving the green-robed angels ranked on high
To clothe themselves with black, and in the end
The leader of the group, the sheikh's true friend,
His heart consumed by sympathetic grief,
Let loose the well-aimed arrows of belief.
For forty nights he had prayed privately,
Rapt in devotion's holy ecstasy --
At dawn there came a musk-diffusing breeze,
And in his heart he knew all mysteries.
He saw the Prophet, lovely as the moon,
Whose face, Truth's shadow, was the sun at noon,
Whose hair in two black heavy braids was curled --
Each hair, a hundred times, outpriced the world.
As he approached with his unruffled pace,
A smile of haunting beauty lit his face.
The sheikh's friend rose and said, 'God's Messenger,
Vouchsafe your help. Our sheikh has wandered far;
You are our Guide; guide him to Truth again.'
The Prophet answered: 'I have loosed the chain
Which bound your sheikh -- your prayer is answered, go.
Thick clouds of dust have been allowed to blow
Between his sight and Truth -- those clouds have gone;
I did not leave him to endure alone.
I sprinkled on the fortunes of your sheikh
A cleansing dew for intercession's sake --
The dust is laid; sin disappeared before
His new-made vow. A world of sin, be sure,
Shall with contrition's spittle be made pure.
The sea of righteousness drowns in its waves
The sins of those sincere repentance saves.'

With grateful happiness the friend cried out;
The heavens echoed his triumphant shout.
He told the good news to the group; again
They set out eagerly across the plain.
Weeping they ran to where the swineherd-sheikh,
Now cured of his unnatural mistake,
Had cast aside his Christian clothes, the bell,
The belt, the cap, freed from the strange faith's spell.
He saw how he had forfeited God's grace;
He ripped his clothes in frenzies of distress;
He grovelled in the dust with wretchedness.
Tears flowed like rain; he longed for death; his sighs'
Great heat consumed the curtain of the skies;
Grief dried the blood within him when he saw
How he had lost all knowledge of God's law;
All he had once abandoned now returned
And he escaped the hell in which he'd burned.
He came back to himself, and on his knees
Wept bitterly for past iniquities.
When his disciples saw him weeping there,
Bathed in shame's sweat, they reeled between despair
And joy -- bewildered they drew near and sighed;
From gratitude they gladly would have died.
They said: 'The mist has fled that hid your sun;
Faith has returned and blasphemy is gone;
Truth has defeated Rome's idolatry;
Grace has surged onward like a mighty sea.
The Prophet interceded for your soul,
The world sends up its thanks from pole to pole.
Why should you mourn? You should thank God instead
That out of darkness you've been safely led;
God who can turn the day to darkest night
Can turn black sin to pure repentant light --
He kindles a repentant spark, the flame
Burns all our sins and all sin's burning shame.'

I will be brief: the sheikh was purified
According to the faith; his old self died --
He put the dervish cloak on as before.
The group set out for Mecca's gates once more.

And then the Christian girl whom he had loved
Dreamed in her sleep; a shaft of sunlight moved
Before her eyes, and from the dazzling ray
A voice said: 'Rise, follow your lost sheikh's way;
Accept his faith, beneath his feet be dust;
You tricked him once, be pure to him and just,
And, as he took your path without pretence,
Take his path now in truth and innocence.
Follow his lead; you once led him astray --
Be his companion as he points the Way;
You were a robber preying on the road
Where you should seek to share the traveller's load.
Wake now, emerge from superstition's night.'
She woke, and in her heart a stead light
Beat like the sun, and an unwonted pain
Throbbed there, a longing she could not restrain;
Desire flared up in her; she felt her soul
Slip gently from the intellect's control.
As yet she did not know what seed was sown --
She had no friend and found herself alone
In an uncharted world; no tongue can tell
What then she saw -- her pride and triumph fell
Like rain from her; with an unearthly shout
She tore the garments from her back, ran out
And heaped the dust of mourning on her head.
Her frame was weak, the heart within her bled,
But she began the journey to her sheikh,
And like a cloud that seems about to break
And shed its downpour of torrential rain
(The heart's rich blood) she ran across the plain.
But soon the desert's endless vacancy
Bewildered her; wild with uncertainty,
She wept and pressed her face against the sand.
'O God,' she cried, 'extend your saving hand
To one who is an outcast of the earth,
To one who tricked a saint of unmatched worth --
Do not abandon me; my evil crime
Was perpetrated in a thoughtless time;
I did not know what I know now -- accept
The prayers of one who ignorantly slept.'

The sheikh's heart spoke: 'The Christian is no more;
The girl you loved knocks at religion's door --
It is our way she follows now; go back
And be the comforter her sorrows lack.'
Like wind he ran, and his disciples cried:
'Has your repentant vow so quickly died?
Will you slip back, a shameless reprobate?'
But when the sheikh explained the girl's sad state,
Compassion moved their hearts and they agreed
To search for her and serve her every need.
They found her with hair draggled in the dirt,
Prone on the earth as if a corpse, her skirt
Torn from her limbs, barefoot, her face death-pale.
She saw the sheikh and felt her last strength fail;
She fainted at his feet, and as she slept
The sheikh hung over her dear face and wept.

She woke, and seeing tears like rain in spring
Knew he'd kept faith with her through everything.
She knelt before him, took his hands and said
'The shame I brought on your respected head
Burns me with shame; how long must I remain
Behind this veil of ignorance? Make plain
The mysteries of Islam to me here,
And I shall tread its highway without fear.'
The sheikh spelt out the faith to her; the crowd
Of gratified disciples cried aloud,
Weeping to see the lovely child embrace
The search for Truth. Then, as her comely face
Bent to his words, her heart began to feel
An inexpressible and troubling zeal;
Slowly she felt the pall of grief descend,
Knowing herself still absent from the Friend.
'Dear sheikh,' she said, 'I cannot bear such pain;
Absence undoes me and my spirits wane.
I go from this unhappy world; farewell
World's sheikh and mine -- further I cannot tell,
Exhaustion weakens me; O sheikh, forgive ...'
And saying this the dear child ceased to live.
The sun was hidden by a mist -- her flesh
Yielded the sweet soul from its weakening mesh.
She was a drop returned to Truth's great sea;
She left this world, and so, like wind, must we.

Whoever knows love's path is soon aware
That stories such as this are far from rare.
All things are possible, and you may meet
Despair, forgiveness, certainty, deceit.
The Self ignores the secrets of the Way,
The mysteries no mortal speech can say;
Assurance whispers in the heart's dark core,
Not in the muddied Self -- a bitter war
Must rage between these two. Turn now and mourn
That your existence is so deeply torn!"

They heard the tale; the birds were all on fire
To quit the hindrance of the Self; desire
To gain the Simorgh had convulsed each heart;
Love made them clamour for the journey's start.
They set out on the Way, a noble deed!
Hardly had they begun when they agreed
To call a halt: "A leader's what we need,"
They said, "one who can bind and loose, one who
Will guide our self-conceit to what is true;
We need a judge of rare ability
To lead us over danger's spacious sea;
Whatever he commands along the Way,
We must, without recalcitrance, obey,
Until we leave this plain of sin and pride
And gain Kaf's distant peak. There we shall hide,
A mote lost in the sun; the Simorgh's shade
Will cover those who travelled and obeyed.
But which of us is worthy of this trust?
A lottery is suitable and just.
The winning lot must finally decide
Which bird should be our undisputed guide."
A hush fell, arguments were laid aside,
The lots were chosen, and the hoopoe won,
A lucky verdict that pleased everyone.
He was their leader; they would sacrifice
Their lives if he demanded such a price;
And as they travelled on the Way his word
Would spell authority to every bird.

The hoopoe, as their chief, was hailed and crowned --
Huge flocks of birds in homage gathered round;
A hundred thousand birds assembled there,
Making a monstrous shadow in the air.
The throng set out -- but, clearing the first dune,
Their leader sent a cry up to the moon
And panic spread among the birds; they feared
The endless desolation which appeared.
They clung together in a huddling crowd,
Drew in their heads and wings and wailed aloud
A melancholy, weak, faint-hearted song --
Their burdens were too great, the way too long!
How featureless the view before their eyes,
An emptiness where they could recognise
No marks of good or ill -- a silence where
The soul knew neither hope nor blank despair.
One said, "The Way is lifeless, empty -- why?"
To which the hoopoe gave this strange reply:
"To glorify the king.

One moonlit night
Sheikh Bayazid, attracted by the sight
Of such refulgent brilliance, clear as day,
Across the sleeping city took his way
And thence into the desert, where he saw
Unnumbered starts adorning heaven's floor.
He walked a little and became aware
That not a sound disturbed the desert air,
That no one moved in that immensity
Save him. His heart grew numb and gradually
Pure terror touched him. 'O great God,' he cried,
'Your dazzling palace beckons far and wide --
Where are the courtiers who should throng this court?'
A voice said: 'Wanderer, you are distraught;
Be calm. Our glorious King cannot admit
All comers to His court; it is not fit
That every rascal who sleeps out the night
Should be allowed to glimpse its radiant light.
Most are turned back, and few perceive the throne;
Among a hundred thousand there is one'."

The trembling birds stared out across the plain;
The road seemed endless as their endless pain.
But in the hoopoe's heart new confidence
Transported him above the firmaments --
The sands could not alarm him nor the high
Harsh sun at noon, the peacock of the sky.
What other bird, throughout the world, could bear
The troubles of the Way and all its care?

The frightened flock drew nearer to its guide.
"You know the perils of the Way," they cried,
"And how we should behave before the king --
You served great Solomon in everything
And flew across his lands -- therefore you know
Exactly where it's safe and right to go;
You've seen the ups and downs of this strange Way.
It is our wish that as our guide you say
How we should act before the king we seek;
And more, as we are ignorant and weak,
That you should solve the problems in our hearts
Before the fearful company departs.
First hear our doubts; the thing we do not doubt
Is that you'll answer them and drive them out --
We know that on this lengthy Way no light
Will come to clear uncertainty's dark night;
But when the heart is free we shall commit
Our hearts and bodies, all we have, to it."

The hoopoe stood to speak, and all the birds
Approached to be encouraged by his words;
A hundred thousand gathered with one mind,
Serried in ranks according to their kind.
The dove and nightingale voiced their complaint;
Such beauty made the company grow faint --
A cry of ecstasy went up; a state
Where neither Self nor void predominate
Fell on the birds. The hoopoe spoke; he drew
The veil from what is ultimately true.
One asked: "How is it that you surpass us in
This search for Truth; what is our crippling sin?
We search and so do you -- but you receive
Truth’s purity while we stand by and grieve."

The hoopoe answered him: "Great Solomon
Once looked at me -- it is that glance alone
Which gave me what I know; no wealth could bring
The substance I received from wisdom's king.
No one can gain this by the forms of prayer,
For even Satan bowed with pious care;
Though don't imagine that you need not pray;
We curse the fool who tricks you in this way.
Pray always, never for one moment cease,
Pray in despair and when your goods increase,
Consume your life with prayer, till Solomon
Bestows his glance, and ignorance is gone.
When Solomon accepts you, you will know
Far more than my unequal words can show."

He said: "King Mas'oud, riding out one day,
Was parted from his army on the way.
Swift as the wind he galloped till he saw
A little boy sat by the ocean's shore.
The child was fishing -- as he cast his hook,
The king dismounted with a friendly look
And sat by him; but the unhappy child
Was troubled in his heart and hardly smiled.
'You seem the saddest boy I've ever seen,'
The monarch said. 'What can such sorrow mean?'
'Our father’s gone; for seven children I
Must cast my line' was his subdued reply.
'Our mother's paralysed and we are poor;
It is for food that I must haunt this shore --
I come to fish here in the dawn's first light
And cannot leave until the fall of night.
The meagre harvest of my toil and pain
Must last us all till I return again.'
The king said: 'Let's be friends, do you agree?'
The poor child nodded and, immediately,
His new friend cast their line into the sea.
That day the boy drew up a hundred fish.
'This wealth is far beyond my wildest wish,'
He said. 'A splendid haul,' the king replied.
'Good Fortune has been busy at your side --
Accept your luck, don't try to comprehend
How this has happened; you'd be lost, my friend.
Your wealth is greater than my own; today
A king has fished for you -- I cannot stay.'
He leapt onto his horse. 'But take your share,'
The boy said earnestly. 'That's only fair.'
'Tomorrow's catch is mine. We won't divide
Today's; you have it all,' the king replied.
'Tomorrow when I fish you are the prey,
A trophy I refuse to give away.'
The next day, walking in his garden's shade,
The king recalled the friend that he had made.
A captain fetched the boy, and this unknown
Was at the king's command set on his throne.
The courtiers murmured at his poverty --
'He is my friend, this fact suffices me;
He is my equal here in everything
The partner of my throne,' declared the king;
To every taunt the boy had one reply:
'My sadness vanished when the king passed by.'

A murderer, according to the law,
Was killed. That night the king who'd killed him saw
The same man in a dream; to his surprise
The villain lorded it in paradise --
The king cried: 'You! In this celestial place!
Your life's work was an absolute disgrace;
How did you reach this state?' The man replied:
'A friend to God passed by me as I died;
The earth drank up my blood, but stealthily
That pilgrim on Truth's journey glanced at me,
And all the glorious extravagance
That laps me now came from his searing glance.'

The man on whom that quickening glance alights
Is raised to heaven's unsuspected heights;
Indeed, until this glance discovers you
Your life's a mystery without a clue;
You cannot carve your way to heaven's throne
If you sit locked in vanity alone.
You need a skilful guide; you cannot start
This ocean-voyage with blindness in your heart.
It may be you will meet the very guide
Who glanced at me; be sure he will provide --
Whatever troubles come -- a place to hide.
You cannot guess what dangers you will find,
You need a staff to guide you, like the blind.
Your sight is failing and the road is long;
Trust one who knows the journey and is strong.
Whoever travels in a great lord's shade
Need never hesitate or be afraid;
Whoever undertakes this lord's commands
Finds thorns will change to roses in his hands.

King Mahmoud went out hunting. In the chase
His courtiers flagged, unequal to the pace.
An old man led a donkey whose high load
Of brushwood slipped and fell into the road.
The old man scratched his head; the king came near
And said: 'Do you need help?' 'I do, that's clear,'
The old man said. 'If you could lend a hand,
You won't lose much. I see that you command
Your share of grace -- such men are always good.'
The king got down and helped him with the wood,
His flower-like hands embraced the thorns; and then
He rode back to his waiting lords again.
He said to them: 'An old man will appear,
Riding a piled-high donkey -- lead him here;
Block all the paths and highways to this place;
I want him to confront me face to face.'
The winding roads were blocked up in a ring,
Of which the centre was the waiting king.
The old man mumbled as he rode alone:
'Why won't he go ... this donkey's skin and bone.
Soldiers! ... Good day, my lords!' and still the way
Led pitilessly on; to his dismay
There rose ahead a royal canopy,
And there was no escape that he could see.
He rode, for there was nothing else to do,
And found awaiting him a face he knew.
'I made a king hump wood for me,' he cried;
'God help all sinners now, I'm terrified.'
'What troubles you, my man?' inquired the king.
'Don't play with me, you took in everything.'
The old man said: 'I'm just a wretched fool
Who day and night must scour the plain for fuel;
I sell the thorns I get and buy dry bread --
Give me some scraps, and blessings on your head.'
The king replied: 'Old man, I'll buy your wood --
Come, name a price you think is fair and good.'
'My lord, such wood cannot be cheaply sold;
It's worth, I reckon, ten full bags of gold.'
The courtiers laughed: 'It's worth two barley grains.
Shut up and sell, and thank you for your pains.'
'Two grains, my friends, that's true -- but this rare buyer
Can surely manage something rather higher?
A great one touched these thorns -- his hand brought forth
A hundred flowers; just think what that is worth!
A dinar buys one root -- a little gain
Is only right, I've had my share of pain;
The wood itself is worthless, I agree --
It is that touch which gives it dignity'."

One of the birds let out a helpless squeak:
"I can't go on this journey, I'm too weak.
Dear guide, I know I can't fly any more;
I've never tried a feat like this before.
This valley's endless; dangers lie ahead;
The first time that we rest I'll drop down dead.
Volcanoes loom before the goal is won --
Admit this journey's not for everyone.
The blood of multitudes has stained the Way;
A hundred thousand creatures, as you say,
Address themselves to this great enterprise --
How many die, a useless sacrifice!
On such a road the best of men are cowed,
Hoods hide the frightened features of the proud --
What chance have timid souls? What chance have I?
If I set out it's certain I shall die!"

The hoopoe said: "Your heart's congealed like ice;
When will you free yourself from cowardice?
Since you have such a short time to live here,
What difference does it make? What should you fear?
The world is filth and sin, and homeless men
Must enter it and homeless leave again.
They die, as worms, in squalid pain; if we
Must perish in this quest, that, certainly,
Is better than a life of filth and grief.
If this great search is vain, if my belief
Is groundless, it is right that I should die.
So many errors throng the world -- then why
Should we not risk this quest? To suffer blame
For love is better than a life of shame.
No one has reached this goal, so why appeal
To those whose blindness claims it is unreal?
I'd rather die deceived by dreams than give
My heart to home and trade and never live.
We've seen and heard so much -- what have we learned?
Not for one moment has the Self been spurned;
Fools gather round and hinder our release:
When will their stale, insistent whining cease?
We have no freedom to achieve our goal
Until from Self and fools we free the soul.
To be admitted past the veil you must
Be dead to all the crowd considers just.
Once past the veil you understand the Way
From which the crowd's glib courtiers blindly stray.
If you have any will, leave women's stories,
And even if this search for hidden glories
Proves blasphemy at last, be sure our quest
Is not mere talk but an exacting test.
The fruit of love's great tree is poverty;
Whoever knows this knows humility.
When love has pitched his tent in someone's breast,
That man despairs of life and knows no rest.
Love's pain will murder him, then blandly ask
A surgeon's fee for managing the task --
The water that he drinks brings pain, his bread
Is turned to blood immediately shed;
Though he is weak, faint, feebler than an ant,
Love forces him to be her combatant;
He cannot take one mouthful unaware
That he is floundering in a sea of care.

Sheikh Noughani set out for Neishapour,
The way was more than he could well endure
And he fell sick -- he spent a hungry week
Huddled in tattered clothes, alone and weak.
But after seven days had passed he cried:
'Dear God, send bread.' An unseen voice replied:
'Go, sweep the dirt of Neishapour's main square,
And with the grain of gold that you find there
Buy bread and eat.' The sheikh abruptly said:
'If I'd a broom I wouldn't beg for bread,
But I have nothing, as you plainly see;
Give me some bread and stop tormenting me!'
The voice said: 'Calm yourself, you need not weep --
If you want bread take up your broom and sweep.'
The sheikh crawled out and publicised his grief
Till he was lent a broom and sweeper's sieve.
He swept the filthy square as he’d been told,
And in his last sieve's dust-heap found the gold.
He hurried to the baker's, bought his bread --
Thoughts of the broom and sieve then filled his head.
He stopped short in his tracks; the shining grain
Was spent and he was destitute again.
He wandered aimlessly until he found
A ruined hut, and on the stony ground
He flung himself headlong; to his surprise
The broom and sieve appeared before his eyes.
Joy seized the old man -- then he cried: 'O Lord,
Why must I toil so hard for my reward?
You tell me to exhaust myself for bread!'
'Bread needs the sauce of work,' the Lord's voice said;
'Since bread is not enough, I will increase
The sauce that makes it tasty; work in peace!'

A simpleton walked naked through the crowd,
And seeing such fine clothes he cried aloud:
'God give me joy like theirs.' A voice replied:
'I give the sun's kind warmth; be satisfied.'
He said: 'My Lord, the sun clothes you, not me!'
The voice said: 'Wait ten days, then you will see
The garment I provide.' Ten days had gone;
A poor man offered to this simpleton
A ragged cloak made up of scraps and shreds.*
'You've spent ten days with patches and old threads
Stitching this cloak,' the madman said; 'I'll bet
You spoiled a treasury of clothes to get
So many bits together -- won't you tell
Your servant where you learned to sew so well?'
The answer came: 'In His great court one must
Be humble as His royal highway's dust;
So many, kindled by His glory, come --
But few will ever reach the longed-for home.'

Saint Rabe'eh for seven years had trod
The pilgrimage to Mecca and her God.
Now drawing near the goal she cried: 'At last
I've reached the Ka'abah's stone; my trials are past' --
Just at that moment the aspiring saint
Succumbed to woman's intimate complaint --
She was impure; she turned aside and said:
'For seven years a pilgrim's life I've led,
And as I reach the throng of pilgrims He
Plants this unlooked-for thorn to hinder me;
Dear God, give access to your glorious home,
Or send me back the weary way I've come.'
No lover lived as true as Rabe'eh,
Yet look, she too was hindered on the Way.
When first you enter Wisdom's sea, beware --
A wave of indecision floods you there.
You worship at the Ka'abah's shrine and then
You're weeping in some worthless pagan's den;
If from this whirlpool you can raise your head,
Tranquillity will take the place of dread.
But if you sink into its swirl alone
Your head will seem some mill's enormous stone;
The least distraction will divert your mind
From that tranquillity you hoped to find.

A saintly fool lived in a squalid place.
One day he saw the Prophet face to face,
Who said to him: 'In your life's work I see
The signs of heaven-sent tranquillity.'
'Tranquillity! When I can't get away
From hungry fleas by night or flies by day!
A tiny gnat got into Nimrod's brain
And by its buzzing sent the man insane;
I seem the Nimrod of this time -- flies, fleas,
Mosquitoes, gnats do with me as they please!' "

Another bird complained: "Sin stains my soul;
How can the wicked ever reach our goal?
How can a soul unclean as noisome flies
Toward the Simorgh's mountains hope to rise?
When sinners leave the path, what power can bring
Such stragglers to the presence of our king?"

The answer came: "You speak from ignorance;
Do not despair of His benevolence.
Seek mercy from Him; throw away your shield,
And by submission gain the longed-for field.
The gate stands open to contrition's way --
If you have sinned, squeeze through it while you may,
And if you travel with an honest heart,
You too will play the victor's glorious part.

Shame forced a vicious sinner to repent.
Once more his strength returned, once more he went
Down his old paths of wickedness and lust;
Leaving the Way, he wallowed in his dust.
But pain welled in his heart, his life became --
A second time -- the source of bitter shame.
Since sin had brought him nothing but despair,
He wanted to repent, but did not dare;
His looks betrayed more agitation than
Ripe corn grains jumping in a heated pan --
His heart was racked by grief and warring fears;
The highway's dust was laid by his sad tears.
But in the dawn he heard a voice: 'The Lord
Was merciful when first you pledged your word.
You broke it and again I gave you time,
Asking no payment for this newer crime;
Poor fool -- would you repent once more? My gate
Stands open always; patiently I wait.'

One night in paradise good Gabriel heard
The Lord say: 'I am here', and at His word
There came another voice which wept and prayed --
'Who knows whose voice this is?' the angel said.
'It comes from one, of this at least I'm sure,
Who has subdued the Self, whose heart is pure.'
But no one in the heavens knew the man,
And Gabriel swooped toward the earth to scan
The deserts, seas and mountains -- far and wide
He searched, without success, until he cried
For God to lead his steps. 'Seek him in Rome,'
God said. 'A pagan temple is his home.'
There Gabriel went and saw the man in tears --
A worthless idol ruled his hopes and fears.
Astonished, Gabriel turned and said: 'Tell me,
Dear Lord, the meaning of this mystery;
You answer with Your kindness one who prays
Before a senseless idol all his days!'
And God replied: 'He does not know our Way;
Mere ignorance has led this man astray --
I understand the cause of his disgrace
And will not coldly turn aside My face;
I shall admit him to My sanctuary
Where kindness will convert his blasphemy'."

The hoopoe paused and raised his voice in prayer,
Then said: "This man for whom God showed such care
Was one like you -- and if you cannot bring
Great virtues to the presence of our king,
Do not alarm yourself; the Lord will bless
The saint's devotion and your nothingness.

A voice rang out one morning in Baghdad:
'My honey's sweet, the best that can be had --
The price is cheap; now who will come and buy?'
A sufi passing in the street nearby
Asked: 'Will you sell for nothing?' But he laughed:
'Who gives his goods for nothing? Don't be daft!'
A voice came then: 'My sufi, turn aside --
A few steps higher -- and be satisfied.
For nothing We shall give you everything;
If you want more, that "more" We'll also bring.
Know that Our mercy is a glittering sun;
No particle escapes its brilliance, none --
Did We not send to sin and blasphemy
Our Prophet as a sign of clemency?'

God said: 'Gharoun has ten times seven times,
Dear Moses, begged forgiveness for his crimes --
Still you ignore him, though his soul is free
From all the twisting growths of blasphemy;
I have uprooted them and now prepare
A robe of grace in answer to his prayer.
You have destroyed him; wound has followed wound;
You force his head to bow down to the ground --
If you were his creator you would give
Some respite to this suffering fugitive.'
One who shows mercy to the merciless
Brings mercy close to Godlike blessèdness;
The ocean of God's grace is infinite --
Our sins are like a tear dissolved in it.
How could His mercy change? -- it can contain
No trace of temporal corruption's stain.
One who accuses sinners takes the part
Of tyranny, and bears a tyrant's heart.

A sinner died, and, as his coffin passed,
A man who practised every prayer and fast
Turned ostentatiously aside -- how could
He pray for one of whom he knew no good?
He saw the sinner in his dreams that night,
His face transfigured with celestial light.
'How did you enter heaven's gates,' he said,
'A sinner stained with filth from foot to head?'
'God saw your merciless, disdainful pride,
And pitied my poor soul,' the man replied.

What generous love His wisdom here displays!
His part is mercy, ours is endless praise;
His Wisdom's like a crow's wing in the night --
He sends a child out with a taper's light,
And then a wind that quenches this thin flame;
The child will suffer words of scathing blame,
But in that narrow darkness he will find
The thousand ways in which his Lord is kind.
If all were pure of all iniquity,
God could not show His generosity;
The end of Wisdom is for God to show --
Perpetually -- His love to those below.
One drop of God's great Wisdom will be yours,
A sea of mercy with uncharted shores;
My child, the seven heavens, day and night,
For your sake wage their old unwearied fight;
For your sake angels pray -- your love and hate
Reflected back are hell's or heaven's gate.
The angels have bowed down to you and drowned
Your soul in Being, past all plummet's sound --
Do not despise yourself, for there is none
Who could with you sustain comparison;
Do not torment yourself -- your soul is All,
Your body but a fleeting particle.
This All will clarify, and in its light
Each particle will shine, distinctly bright --
As flesh remains an agent of the soul,
Your soul's an agent of the sacred Whole.
But 'part' and 'whole' must disappear at last;
The Way is one, and number is surpassed.
A hundred thousand clouds above you press;
Their rain is pure, unending happiness;
And when the desert blooms with flowers, their scent
And beauty minister to your content;
The prayers of all the angels, all they do,
All their obedience, God bestows on you.

Abbasseh said: 'At God's last Judgement Day,
When panic urges men to run away
And at the same time paralyses them,
When sinners stumble, overwhelmed by shame,
When terror seizes on the human race,
And each man seeks to hide his anguished face,
Then God, whom all the earth and heavens adore,
Will His unstinted benedictions pour
On man, the handful of unworthy dust.
The angels will cry out: 'Lord, is this just,
That man, before us all, take precedence?'
And God will say: 'There is no consequence
Of loss or gain in this for you, but man
Has reached the limit of his earthy span --
Hunger must always be supplied with bread;
A mortal nation clamours to be fed'."

Another bird declared, "As you can see,
I lack the organs of virility;
Each moment I prefer a different tree --
I'm drunk, devout, the world's, then (briefly) His;
Caught between 'No, it isn't', 'Yes, it is'.
The flesh will send me drinking, then I'll find
The praise of God awakening in my mind;
What should I do between these two extremes,
Imprisoned by conflicting needs and dreams?"

The hoopoe said: "This troubles everyone;
What man is truly single-minded? None!
If all of us could boast a spotless mind,
Why should the prophets mingle with mankind?
If it is love which prompts your fervent prayers,
A hundred kindnesses will calm your cares.
Life is an obstinate young colt -- until
He's broken in by your restraining will;
He knows no peace; but you are indolent,
Stretched out beside the oven, warm, content.
Tears temper hearts; but living well's a rust
That inch by inch reduces them to dust --
You're just a eunuch pampering his needs;
Your Self's grown gross, a dog that sleeps and feeds.