Qalanders, who to their sway
Water strive to win and clay,
From the monarch tribute bear
Though the beggar’s robe they wear.

They appear, and round the sun
And the moon their rope is spun;
They retire, and in their breast
Time and Space repose at rest.

When the revel rules the day
Bright as shimmering silks are they.
Yet when battle is toward
For the sacrifice prepared.

A new order they devise
For the broad and dappled skies,
Bear the ancient stars and all
On their backs to funeral.

Time hath from her face untied
Morrow’s veil, to lay aside;
Yet to-day men still delight
In the wine of yesternight.

Hovers on my lip the word
That must never be declared;
Strange, the learned of the town
Silent are, nor even frown!