Faithful friends! it lies, I know,
          Pale and white and cold as snow;
          And ye say, “Abdullah’s dead!”
          Weeping at my feet and head. 
          I can see your falling tears,
          I can hear your cries and prayers,
          Yet I smile and whisper this:—­
          “I am not that thing you kiss;
          Cease your tears and let it lie: 
          It was mine, it is not I.”

          Sweet friends! what the women lave
          For its last bed in the grave
          Is a tent which I am quitting,
          Is a garment no more fitting,
          Is a cage from which at last
          Like a hawk my soul hath passed. 
          Love the inmate, not the room;
          The wearer, not the garb; the plume
          Of the falcon, not the bars
          Which kept him from the splendid stars.

          Loving friends! be wise, and dry
          Straightway every weeping eye: 
          What ye lift upon the bier
          Is not worth a wistful tear. 
          ’Tis an empty sea-shell, one
          Out of which the pearl is gone. 
          The shell is broken, it lies there;
          The pearl, the all, the soul, is here. 
          ’Tis an earthen jar whose lid
          Allah sealed, the while it hid
          That treasure of His treasury,
          A mind which loved Him:  let it lie! 
          Let the shard be earth’s once more,
          Since the gold shines in His store!

          Allah Mu’hid, Allah most good! 
          Now Thy grace is understood: 
          Now my heart no longer wonders
          What Al-Barsakh is, which sunders
          Life from death, and death from Heaven: 
          Nor the “Paradises Seven”
          Which the happy dead inherit;
          Nor those “birds” which bear each spirit
          Toward the Throne, “green birds and white”
          Radiant, glorious, swift their flight! 
          Now the long, long darkness ends. 
          Yet ye wail, my foolish friends,
          While the man whom ye call “dead”
          In unbroken bliss instead
          Lives, and loves you:  lost, ’tis true
          By any light which shines for you;
          But in light ye cannot see
          Of unfulfilled felicity,
          And enlarging Paradise;
          Lives the life that never dies.

          Farewell, friends!  Yet not farewell;
          Where I am, ye, too, shall dwell. 
          I am gone before your face
          A heart-beat’s time, a gray ant’s pace. 
          When ye come where I have stepped,
          Ye will marvel why ye wept;
          Ye will know, by true love taught,
          That here is all, and there is naught. 
          Weep awhile, if ye are fain,—­
          Sunshine