Think, in this batter’d Caravanserai Whose portals are alternate Night and Day, How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp Abode his destin’d Hour and went his way.
Indeed the Idols I have loved so long, have done my credit in this World much wrong; have drowned my Glory in a shallow Cup, and sold my Reputation for a Song.
We are thinking about bad only those who are worse than we are, and those who are better than us … I’m just not up to us … One does not follow it than smell roses. Another of the bitter herbs will produce honey. Give bread to one – will remember forever. Another life donation – do not understand.
Men talk of heaven, – there is no heaven but here; Men talk of hell, – there is no hell but here; Men of hereafters talk and future lives, – O love, there is no other life – but here.
Wake! For the Sun, who scatter’d into flight The Stars before him from the Field of Night, Drives Night along with them from Heav’n, and strikes The Sultan’s Turret with a Shaft of Light.
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.
So when that Angel of the darker Drink, at last shall find you by the river-brink, And, offering his Cup, invite your Soul forth to your Lips to quaff-you shall not shrink.
Up from Earth’s Centre through the Seventh Gate rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate; And many a Knot unravel’d by the Road; But not the Master-knot of Human Fate.
