I heard the Well-Belovéd call—
Zahir, where is my beauty gone,
Thou must have robbed me after all.
ZAHIR.
[XLVIII.]
O Tyrannous One, when from my heart was drawn
The fatal arrow, like a scarlet flood
My life gushed forth; but yet the one word Hope
Was written in my blood.
Why should the Cosmos turn its wheel of worlds