THERE is no Good, there is no Bad; these be the whims of mortal will: What works me weal that call I ‘good,’ what harms and hurts I hold as ‘ill:’

They change with place, they shift with race; and, in the veriest span of Time, Each Vice has worn a Virtue’s crown; all Good was banned as Sin or Crime:

Like ravelled skeins they cross and twine, while this with that connects and blends; And only Khizr* his eye shall see where one begins, where other ends:

What mortal shall consort with Khizr, when Musâ turned in fear to flee? What man foresees the flow’er or fruit whom Fate compels to plant the tree?