Of every image that the heart
Takes from the eye—I have no part;
Perception weigheth not with me,
I beg for pure reality.

Anon a touch of madness lies
In the conventions of the wise;
I come with collar torn, a fool,
For all I went to wisdom’s school.

Anon I wrap me in the world,
Anon about me ‘tis enfurled;
Pass round the wine, and pass again,
That I may break this tangled skein.

No Saqi’s glance enchants me here,
Nor any talk of love sincere;
From Mullah’s board and Sufi’s feast
I nothing gain but care increased.

‘Th time that they had much to do
With me, thy choice and favoured few:
The desert was my upbringing;
I fearless stride before the king.