|A recreant captain, a battle-line thrown back,|
The arrow hanging target-less and slack!
|Nowhere near you that shell which holds life’s pearl;|
I have dragged the waves and searched the ocean’s track.
|Plunge in your self, on idols dote no more,|
Pour our no more heart’s blood for paint to deck
|Their shrines. I unveil the courts of Love and Death:|
Death—life dishonoured; Love—death for honour’s sake.
|I gleaned in Rumi’s company: one bold heart|
Is worth of learned heads the whole tame pack;
|Once more that voice from Sinai’s tree would cry|
Fear not! if some new Moses led the attack.
|No glitter of Western science could dazzle my eyes|
The dust of Medina stains, like collyrium, black.
Translated by: V.G. Kiernan