I am the slave of each living heart
Whose love is pure, refined,
Not cloistered monks who dwell apart,
Their hearts to none resigned.

With such a heart as knows the hue,
Yet from all hue is free,
In mosque, and inn, and temple, too,
The touchstone sure they be.

Beyond the moon and Pleiades
Their gaze is lifted high,
The Milky Way contents not these
For them to nest thereby.

Within the multitude are they,
Yet out of it withal;
In spirit’s solitude they stay,
While dwelling amid all.

Regard not meanly, nor despise
The truly loving man;
Though little worth, ‘tis merchandise
Fit for Life’s caravan.

The charter of their liberty
Is writ for slaves to keep;
And now the Sheikh and Brahman be
Shepherds without their sheep.

Take thou the goblet in thy hold;
Wine lawful is, they tell
Although the tale be strange,
‘tis told By speakers credible.