L

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--HE knows--HE knows!

LI

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.

LII

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.

LIII

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

LIV

I tell Thee this--When, starting from the Goal, Over the shoulders of the flaming Foal Of Heav'n and Parwin and Mushtara they flung, In my predestined Plot of Dust and Soul.

LV

The Vine had struck a Fibre; which about If clings my Being--let the Sufi flout; Of my Base Metal may be filed a Key, That shall unlock the Door he howls without.

LVI

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.

LVII

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?

LVIII

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!

KuZA-NaMA

LIX

Listen again. One evening at the Close Of Ramazan, ere the better Moon arose, In that old Potter's Shop I stood alone With the clay Population round in Rows.

LX

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

LXI

Then said another--"Surely not in vain My Substance from the common Earth was ta'en, That He who subtly wrought me into Shape Should stamp me back to common Earth again."

LXII

Another said--"Why, ne'er a peevish Boy, Would break the Bowl from which he drank in Joy; Shall He that _made_ the Vessel in pure Love And Fancy, in an after Rage destroy!"

LXIII

None answer'd this; but after Silence spake A Vessel of a more ungainly Make: "They sneer at me for leaning all awry; What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?"

LXIV

Said one--"Folks of a surly Tapster tell, And daub his Visage with the Smoke of h.e.l.l; They talk of some strict Testing of us--Pish!

He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well."

LXV

Then said another with a long-drawn Sigh, "My Clay with long oblivion is gone dry: But, fill me with the old familiar Juice, Methinks I might recover by-and-by!"

LXVI

So while the Vessels one by one were speaking, One spied the little Crescent all were seeking: And then they jogg'd each other, "Brother, Brother!

Hark to the Porter's Shoulder-knot a creaking!"

LXVII

Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide, And wash my Body whence the Life has died, And in a Windingsheet of Vine-leaf wrapt, So bury me by some sweet Garden-side.