I remember, too, that once the Saki Filled the antique cup and gave it thee; Now, filled with the treasures of thy wisdom, Thou dost pass that very cup to me.

By the God of thee, my Syrian Brother, Which is best, the Saki ’s cup or thine? Which the mystery divine uncovers⁠— If the cover covers aught divine.

And if it lies hid in the soul of silence Like incense in the dust of ambergris, Wouldst thou burn it to perfume the terror Of the caverns of the dried-up seas?

Where’er it be, Oh! let it be, my Brother.⁠— Though “thrice-imprisoned,” 1 thou hast forged us more Solid weapons for the life-long battle Than all the Heaven-taught Armorers of yore.