"But helpless Pieces of the Game He plays Upon this Chequer-board of Nights and Days; Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays, And one by one back in the Closet lays."

"Would you that spangle of Existence spend About the Secret — Quick about it, Friend! A Hair perhaps divides the False and True — And upon what, prithee, may life depend?"

"A Hair perhaps divides the False and True; Yes; and a single Alif were the clue — Could you but find it — to the Treasure-house, And peradventure to The Master too."

"Whose secret Presence, through Creation's veins Running Quicksilver-like eludes your pains; Taking all shapes from Mah to Mahi; and They change and perish all — but He remains."

"A moment guess'd — then back behind the Fold Immerst of Darkness round the Drama roll'd Which, for the Pastime of Eternity, He doth Himself contrive, enact, behold."

"But if in vain, down on the stubborn floor Of Earth, and up to Heav'n's unopening Door You gaze To-day, while You are You — how then To-morrow, You when shall be You no more?"

"Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuit Of This and That endeavour and dispute; Better be jocund with the fruitful Grape Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit."

"You know, my Friends, with what a brave Carouse I made a Second Marriage in my house; Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse."

"Ah, but my Computations, People say, Reduced the Year to better reckoning? — Nay 'Twas only striking from the Calendar Unborn To-morrow, and dead Yesterday."

"And lately, by the Tavern Door agape, Came shining through the Dusk an Angel Shape Bearing a Vessel on his Shoulder; and He bid me taste of it; and 'twas — the Grape!"

"The mighty Mahmud, Allah-breathing Lord That all the misbelieving and black Horde Of Fears and Sorrows that infest the Soul Scatters before him with his whirlwind Sword."

"Why, be this Juice the growth of God, who dare Blaspheme the twisted tendril as a Snare? A Blessing, we should use it, should we not? And if a Curse — why, then, Who set it there?"

"I must abjure the Balm of Life, I must, Scared by some After-reckoning ta'en on trust, Or lured with Hope of some Diviner Drink, To fill the Cup — when crumbled into Dust!"

"Oh, threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise! One thing at least is certain — This Life flies; One thing is certain and the rest is Lies; The Flower that once has blown for ever dies."

"Strange, is it not? that of the myriads who Before us pass'd the door of Darkness through, Not one returns to tell us of the Road, Which to discover we must travel too."

"The Revelations of Devout and Learn'd Who rose before us, and as Prophets burn'd, Are all but Stories, which, awoke from Sleep, They told their comrades, and to Sleep return'd."

"I sent my Soul through the Invisible, Some letter of that After-life to spell: And by and by my Soul return'd to me, And answer'd "I Myself am Heav'n and Hell.""

"Heav'n but the Vision of fulfill'd Desire, And Hell the Shadow from a Soul on fire, Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves, So late emerged from, shall so soon expire."

"We are no other than a moving row Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go Round with the Sun-illumined Lantern held In Midnight by the Master of the Show;"

"The Ball no Question makes of Ayes and Noes, But Right or Left as strikes the Player goes; And He that toss'd Thee down into the Field, He knows about it all — knows — HE knows!"

"But Here or There as strikes the Player goes."

"The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it."

"And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky, Whereunder crawling coop't we live and die, Lift not thy hands to It for help — for It Rolls impotently on as Thou or I."

"And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky."

"As impotently moves as you or I."

"And this I know: whether the one True Light, Kindle to Love, or Wrath consume me quite, One Glimpse of It within the Tavern caught Better than in the Temple lost outright."

"One Flash of It within the Tavern caught."

"Oh Thou who didst with Pitfall and with Gin Beset the Road I was to wander in, Thou wilt not with Predestination round Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin?"

"Thou wilt not with Predestined Evil round Enmesh, and then impute my Fall to Sin!"

"With Earth's first Clay They did the Last Man knead, And there of the Last Harvest sow'd the Seed: And the first Morning of Creation wrote What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read."

"Yesterday This Day's Madness did prepare; To-morrow's Silence, Triumph, or Despair: Drink! for you know not whence you came, nor why: Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where."

"The Vine had struck a fibre: which about If clings my being — let the Dervish flout; Of my Base metal may be filed a Key, That shall unlock the Door he howls without."

"And this I know: whether the one True Light Kindle to Love, or Wrath-consume me quite, One Flash of It within the Tavern caught Better than in the Temple lost outright."

"What! out of senseless Nothing to provoke A conscious Something to resent the yoke Of unpermitted Pleasure, under pain Of Everlasting Penalties, if broke!"

"What! from his helpless Creature be repaid Pure Gold for what he lent him dross-allay'd — Sue for a Debt he never did contract, And cannot answer — Oh, the sorry trade!"

"Oh Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make, And who with Eden didst devise the Snake; For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man Is blacken'd, Man's Forgiveness give — and take!"

"And ev'n with Paradise devise the Snake."

"And strange to tell, among that Earthen Lot Some could articulate, while others not: And suddenly one more impatient cried — "Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?""

"Said one — "Folks of a surly Tapster tell, "And daub his Visage with the Smoke of Hell; "They talk of some strict Testing of us—Pish! "He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well.""

"Why," said another, "Some there are who tell Of one who threatens he will toss to Hell The luckless Pots he marr'd in making--Pish! "He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well."

"And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel, And robb'd me of my Robe of Honour — well, I often wonder what the Vintners buy One half so precious as the Goods they sell."

"I wonder often what the Vintners buy One half so precious as the stuff they sell."

"One half so precious as the stuff they sell."

"Oh, Thou who Man of baser Earth didst make, And ev'n with Paradise devise the Snake: For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man Is blacken'd — Man's forgiveness give — and take!"

"As under cover of departing Day Slunk hunger-stricken Ramazan away, Once more within the Potter's house alone I stood, surrounded by the Shapes of Clay."

"Shapes of all Sorts and Sizes, great and small, That stood along the floor and by the wall; And some loquacious Vessels were; and some Listen'd perhaps, but never talk'd at all."

"Said one among them — "Surely not in vain My substance of the common Earth was ta'en And to this Figure moulded, to be broke, Or trampled back to shapeless Earth again.""

"Then said a Second — "Ne'er a peevish Boy Would break the Bowl from which he drank in joy, And He that with his hand the Vessel made Will surely not in after Wrath destroy.""

"After a momentary silence spake Some Vessel of a more ungainly Make; "They sneer at me for leaning all awry: What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?""

"Well," Murmur'd one, "Let whoso make or buy, My Clay with long Oblivion is gone dry: But fill me with the old familiar juice, Methinks I might recover by and by."