In My Heart XXI.

O, what a Throb of Toil is in my Heart!

What Shrine's crowd-trodden Soil is in my Heart!

The Spring has come; again the Sower sows,

And all the Season's Moil is in my Heart.

The Veil which hid the World's fair face is drawn;

Disclosed, its inmost Coil is in my Heart.

The Heart must higher rise, than setting Suns;

The Sun-dance nought can foil is in my Heart.

The Heart has well been named the Shah's own throne;

And warm anointing Oil is in my Heart.

The Heart's deep Ocean rolls a thousand waves;

And rich Pearl-diver's Spoil is in my Heart.

Jeláleddín! The Heart is sure both Mine and Mint;

For Fire, as Gold did boil, is in my Heart.