The Parliament of Birds

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.'