The Flower That Once Has Blown Forever

But Helpless Pieces Of The Game He Plays Upon This Checker-board Of Nights And Days; Hither And Thither Moves, And Checks, And Slays, And One By One Back In The Closet Lays.

And That Inverted Bowl They Call The Sky, Whereunder Crawling Cooped We Live And Die, Lift Not Your Hands To It For Help-for It As Impotently Moves As You Or I

Hearts Are Like Tapers, Which At Beauteous Eyes Kindle A Flame Of Love That Never Dies; And Beauty Is A Flame, Where Hearts, Like Moths, Offer Themselves A Burning Sacrifice.

The Rose That Once Has Bloomed Forever Dies.

Why Ponder Thus The Future To Foresee, And Jade Thy Brain To Vain Perplexity? Cast Off Thy Care, Leave Allah’s Plans To Him – He Formed Them All Without Consulting Thee.