A melody swept me through and through
And nobody knew;
The air and the note is all they know.
The high and low.

Love in my heart was made to chime
With thought sublime;
Not like the moon I wax and wane;
I never attain.

Weep no more, but with brave heart take
Disunion’s ache;
Love, till it sigheth, scarce can guess
Its attractiveness.

Be thou a torch, and set afire
The bush and briar;
Men of clay have no right to be
In life’s sanctuary.

A falcon thou art; yield not thy soul
To domestic fowl;
Rise, spread thy wing and pinion, and soar
Both high and far.

The poet’s a glow that giveth light
In life’s dark night;
A radiance shines in his wings anon,
And sometimes none.

Iqbal in his song his Self has bared
And truth declared;
This new-unbeliever knoweth naught
Of cloister rote.