Chapter XXI

O, what a Throb of Toil is in my Heart!
What Shrine's crowd-trodden Soil is in my Heart!
The Spring has come; again the Sower sows,
And all the Season's Moil is in my Heart.
The Veil which hid the World's fair face is drawn;
Disclosed, its inmost Coil is in my Heart.
The Heart must higher rise, than setting Suns;
The Sun-dance nought can foil is in my Heart.
The Heart has well been named the Shah's own throne;
And warm anointing Oil is in my Heart.
The Heart's deep Ocean rolls a thousand waves;
And rich Pearl-diver's Spoil is in my Heart.
Jeláleddín! The Heart is sure both Mine and Mint;
For Fire, as Gold did boil, is in my Heart.

Not Deaf to Love