I have never discovered well
Law’s way, and the wont thereof,
But know him an infidel
Who denieth the power of Love.

The travellers of the Shrine
O may God succour and aid,
That they may truly divine
Man’s rank, who of clay was made.

I do not ask of the Way;
The Friend is my only quest,
For so I have heard men say,
"The friend, then the way, that’s best!’

Europe’s philosopher
So misseth the rapture fine,
In the red bowl shines more clear
The gleam of the crimson wine.

Better a man were blind,
Better a thousand wise,
Than knowledge to have in mind
That the seeing heart denies.

Though intellect’s jugglery
Peculiar joy impart,
Better than subtlety
Is the faith of a simple heart.

I have washed my heart’s tablets clean
Of the learning that charmed my youth,
Opened my teeming brain
With the lancet of utter truth.

Far from the threshold now
Of the Sultan’s gate I have strayed;
No infidel I, to bow
To a god who can nothing aid.