Though vain and ceaseless winds have rolled
Its pile wherein the ages sleep.
Between your fingers you may sift
Kings, poets, priests and charvadars.
Heaven knows how many make a drift
Of dust upon the road to Fars.
"The wraiths subside. And, One with All,
Soon, in the brevity of length,
Our lives shall hear the voiceless call
That builds this earth of love and strength.