I close the door of hope in my own face,
Nor sue for favours from good men, or base;
I have but ONE to lend a helping hand,
He knows, as well as I, my sorry case.
315. C. L. N. A. I. J. A «Haliya» quatrain, lamenting his own condition.
Ah! by these heavens, that ever circling run,
And by my own base lusts I am undone,
Without the wit to abandon worldly hopes,
And wanting sense the world's allures to shun!
On earth's green carpet many sleepers lie,
And hid beneath it others I descry,
And others, not yet come, or passed away,
People the desert of Nonentity!
317. C. L. N. A. I. J. The sleepers on the earth are those sunk in the sleep of superstition and ignorance.