Thyself hast said: “The Present steals away;
The Future comes, and bringing—what? Dost know?”
Summoned by thy melody did Hafiz rise
Out of the darkness near thy lips to dwell;
Back to the dark again his pathway lies—
Sing out, sing clear, and singing cry: Farewell!
XXXII
Upon a branch of the straight cypress-tree
Once more the patient nightingale doth rest:
“Oh Rose!” he cries, “evil be turned from thee!