“And this is all, for this we’re born to weep a little and to die!”
So sings the shallow bard whose life still labours at the letter “I.”

“Ear never heard, Eye never saw the bliss of those who enter in
My heavenly kingdom,” Isâ said, who wailed our sorrows and our sin:

Too much of words or yet too few! What to thy Godhead easier than
One little glimpse of Paradise to ope the eyes and ears of man?

“I am the Truth! I am the Truth!” we hear the God-drunk gnostic cry
“The microcosm abides in ME; Eternal Allah’s nought but I!”

Mansûr* was wise, but wiser they who smote him with the hurlèd stones;
And, though his blood a witness bore, no wisdom-might could mend his bones.