I Can’t Reveal The Mystery To Either

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

To-day Is Thine To Spend, But Not To-morrow; Counting On Morrows Breedeth Bankrupt Sorrow: O Squander Not This Breath That Heaven Hath Lent Thee; Make Not Too Sure Another Breath To Borrow.

Heaven But The Vision Of Fulfilled Desire, And Hell The Shadow From A Soul On Fire.

Ah Love! Could You And I With Him Conspire To Grasp This Sorry Scheme Of Things Entire Would We Not Shatter It To Bits-and Then Re-mould It Nearer To The Heart's Desire?

How Much More Of The Mosque, Of Prayer And Fasting? Better Go Drunk And Begging Round The Taverns. Khayyam, Drink Wine, For Soon This Clay Of Yours Will Make A Cup, Bowl, One Day A Jar. When Once You Hear The Roses Are In Bloom, Then Is The Time, My Love, To Pour The Wine; Houris And Palaces And Heaven And Hell- These Are But Fairy-tales, Forget Them All.