THE KASÎDAH IX, 141, 152

Haply the Law that rules the world
 allows to man the widest range;
And haply Fate’s a Theist-word,
 subject to human chance and change.

This “I” may find a future Life,
 a nobler copy of our own,
Where every riddle shall be ree’d,
 where every knowledge shall be known;

Where ’twill be man’s to see the whole
 of what on Earth he sees in part;
Where change shall ne’er surcharge the thought;
 nor hope defer’d shall hurt the heart.

THE KASÎDAH IX, 1, 12

How then shall man so order life
 that when his tale of years is told,
Like sated guest he wend his way;
 how shall his even tenour hold?

Despite the Writ that stores the skull;
 despite the Table and the Pen;
Maugre the Fate that plays us down,
 her board the world, her pieces men?

How when the light and glow of life
 wax dim in thickly gath’ering gloom,
Shall mortal scoff at sting of Death,
 shall scorn the victory of the Tomb?

THE KASÎDAH VIII, 141, 152

Enough to think such things may be:
 to say they are not or they are
Were folly: leave them all to Fate,
 nor wage on shadows useless war.

Do what thy manhood bids thee do,
 from none but self expect applause;
He noblest lives and noblest dies
 who makes and keeps his self-made laws.

All other Life is living Death,
 a world where none but Phantoms dwell,
A breath, a wind, a sound, a voice,
 a tinkling of the camel-bell.

THE KASÎDAH VIII, 129, 140

“For gen’erous youth,” an Arab saith,
 “Jahim’s the only genial state;
“Give us the fire but not the shame
 with the sad, sorry blest to mate.”

And if your Heav’en and Hell be true,
 and Fate that forced me to be born
Force me to Heav’en or Hell—I go,
 and hold Fate’s insolence in scorn.

I want not this, I want not that,
 already sick of Me and Thee;
And if we’re both transform’d and changed,
 what then becomes of Thee and Me?

THE KASÎDAH VI, 61, 72

But is it so? How may we know?
 Haply this Fate, this Law may be
A word, a sound, a breath; at most
 the Zâhid’s moonstruck theory.

Yes Truth may be, but ’tis not Here;
 mankind must seek and find it There,
But Where nor I nor you can tell,
 nor aught earth-mother ever bare.

Enough to think that Truth can be:
 come sit we where the roses glow,
Indeed he knows not how to know
 who knows not also how to ’unknow.

THE KASÎDAH V, 13, 24

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?

For Man’s Free-will immortal Law,
 Anagkê, Kismet, Des’tiny read
That was, that is, that aye shall be,
 Star, Fortune, Fate, Urd, Norn or Need.

“Man’s nat’ural state is God’s design;”
 such is the silly sage’s theme;
“Man’s primal Age was Age of Gold;”
 such is the Poet’s waking dream:

THE KASÎDAH IV, 61, 72

“Say, Man, deep learnèd in the Scheme
 that orders mysteries sublime,
“How came it this was Jesus, that
 was Judas from the birth of Time?

“How I the tiger, thou the lamb;
 again the Secret, prithee, show
“Who slew the slain, bowman or bolt
 or Fate that drave the man, the bow?

“Man worships self: his God is Man;
 the struggling of the mortal mind
“To form its model as ’twould be,
 the perfect of itself to find.

THE KASÎDAH III, 107, 124

Yes, Life in youth-tide standeth still;
 in manhood streameth soft and slow;
See, as it nears the ’abysmal goal
 how fleet the waters flash and flow!

And Deaths are twain; the Deaths we see
 drop like the leaves in windy Fall;
But ours, our own, are ruined worlds,
 a globe collapst, last end of all.

We live our lives with rogues and fools,
 dead and alive, alive and dead,
We die ’twixt one who feels the pulse
 and one who frets and clouds the head:

And,—oh, the Pity!—hardly conned
 the lesson comes its fatal term;
Fate bids us bundle up our books,
 and bear them bod’ily to the worm:

Hardly we learn to wield the blade
 before the wrist grows stiff and old;
Hardly we learn to ply the pen
 ere Thought and Fancy faint with cold.

THE KASÎDAH I, 49, 56

Why must we meet, why must we part,
 why must we bear this yoke of MUST,
Without our leave or askt or given,
 by tyrant Fate on victim thrust?

That Eve so gay, so bright, so glad,
 this Morn so dim, and sad, and grey;
Strange that life’s Registrar should write
 this day a day, that day a day!