In thy fountained peristyles of Reason Glows the light and flame of desert noons; And in the cloister of thy pensive Fancy Wisdom burns the spikenard of her moons.
Closed by Fate the portals of the dwelling Of thy sight, the light thus inward flowed; And on the shoulders of the crouching Darkness Thou hast risen to the highest road.
I have seen thee walking with Canopus Through the stellar spaces of the night; I have heard thee asking thy Companion, “Where be now my staff, and where thy light?”
Abu al-ʻAlaʼ, in the heaving darkness, Didst thou not the whisperings hear of me? In thy star-lit wilderness, my Brother, Didst thou not a burdened shadow see?
I have walked and I have slept beside thee, I have laughed and I have wept as well; I have heard the voices of thy silence Melting in thy Jannat and thy hell.