Tho’ I am but a mote, the radiant sun is mine – Secrets of Life

Tho’ I am but a mote, the radiant sun is mine
Within my bosom are a hundred dawns.
My dust is brighter than Jamshid’s cup-“
It knows things that are yet unborn in the world.
My thought hunted down and slung from the saddle a deer.

That has not yet leaped forth from the covert of non-existence.
Fair is my garden ere yet the leaves are green:
Unborn roses are hidden in the skirt of my garment.
I struck dumb the musicians where they were gathered together,
I smote the heart-string of the universe,
Because the lute of my genius hath a rare melody:
Even to comrades my song is strange.

WHEN the world-illuming sun rushed

WHEN the world-illuming sun rushed,

upon Night like a brigand,

My weeping bedewed the face of the rose.

My tears washed away sleep from the eye of the narcissus,

My passion wakened the grass and made it grow.

The Gardener tried the power of my song,

He sowed my verse and reaped a sword.

In the soil he planted only the seed of my tears

And wove my lament with the garden, as warp and woof

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