Chapter XLVII

I heard it whispered in the cryptic streets Where every sage the same dumb shadow meets: "We are but words fallen from the lipe of Time Which God, that we might understand, repeats."

XLVIII

Another said: "The creeping worm hath shown, In her discourse on human flesh and bone, That Man was once the bed on which she slept-- The walking dust was once a thing of stone."

XLIX

And still another: "We are coins which fade In circulation, coins which Allah made To cheat Iblis: the good and bad alike Are spent by Fate upon a passing shade."

L

And in the pottery the potter cried, As on his work shone all the master's pride-- "How is it, Rabbi, I, thy slave, can make Such vessels as nobody dare deride?"