TO ABU'L-ALA
IN thy fountained peristyles of Reason
Glows the light and flame of desert noons;
And in the cloister of thy pensive Fancy
Wisdom burns the spikenard of her moons.
Closed by Fate the portals of the dwelling
Of thy sight, the light thus inward flowed;
And on the shoulders of the crouching Darkness
Thou hast risen to the highest road.
I have seen thee walking with Canopus
Through the stellar spaces of the night;
I have heard thee asking thy Companion,
"Where be now my staff, and where thy light?"
Abu'l-Ala, in the heaving darkness,
Didst thou not the whisperings hear of me?
In thy star-lit wilderness, my Brother,
Didst thou not a burdened shadow see?
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