I bear the burden of your world's desire.
"Yet keep that inner smile; and never show it
Though the Account be nothing—shorn of her.
Be wise, O Sheikh. Pray God to be a poet
Lest life should make you a philosopher,
Or lest the dreams of which you had the making
Should prove to be such stuff as still I trail,
And bring your heart, my withers, nigh to breaking
When at the last the Bearer eyes the Bale,
"As you shall penetrate this day or morrow