Hold—behold the Kaaba of secrets bare,The naked splendour of fair art laid there!
The rock, bewitched by its own loveliness,Above the sands, stood like a lighthouse.
The sun had painted it in hues of gold,And ray-light draped it like a mantle's fold.
The waves shout loud, then settle into rest,The tide converses with the shore's fair breast.
The ships glide on in tranquil, peaceful air,The waves kiss lips that modestly withhold.
The wind sports with the sail as though it wereA bird that dallies on the river fair.
The birds swim through the heavens, soaring high,Descending gently, children of the sky.
Till rocks upon the waters seemed to lieAs though a garden strewn with blossoms nigh.
The shadow plays upon the water, drawingFair maidens' forms in chastest veils adorning.
I walked and listened to the echo's word,And heard a voice like ringing tones deferred.
I ran toward that voice with eager haste,Seeking escape—too late for flight's embrace.
I ran and searched the vast expanse to findA nest concealed, a hidden haven kind.
Above the winds, the clouds, the heavenly dome,Or o'er creation's horizon and doom.
Or o'er the star's crest seeking nobleness—One day upon this earth is my sufficiency.
A barren life on earth is my suffice,For I live in existence as a flower.
One beacon's gleam suffices for my eyes,Though villains' world conceals its fragrant power.
I mock a tyrant fate that would impartMaking the thornbush smell like flowers' heart.
I saw night's face within the morning light,And heard a voice like ringing tones in flight.
I ran with longing swiftly to its source,Expecting there to glimpse some secret force.
I glimpsed a Nubian who sang in joy,Like birds that carol in the trees' employ.
I drew near and said: Here, youth, take heed—Will you not buy me from the free men's breed?
Will you not buy? I shall not overpay!Come, offer up, O king and purchaser!
By God, the sea-world's ore is purest gold,A world God crowned with every pride untold.
The wandering voice grew restless, answered: No!Draw me not to the hidden fire below!
I fancy he believed that play was mine,I fancy he believed hypocrisy my sign.
Despairing of that weary soul, he fled,And I returned like fortune's ruined dead.
Till I beheld the moon in glory rise,And peace returned unto my thoughts and eyes.
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