The dreadest sound man’s ear can hear, the war and rush of stormy Wind Depures the stuff of human life, breeds health and strength for humankind:

What call ye them or Goods or Ills, ill-goods, good-ills, a loss, a gain, When realms arise and falls a roof; a world is won, a man is slain?

And thus the race of Being runs, till haply in the time to be Earth shifts her pole and Mushtari*-men another falling star shall see:

Shall see it fall and fade from sight, whence come, where gone no Thought can tell,— Drink of yon mirage-stream and chase the tinkling of the camel-bell!