I. <br /> <br />When late I watched the arrows of the sleet <br />Against the windows of the Tavern beat, <br />I heard a Rose that murmured from her Pot: <br />'Why trudge thy fellows yonder in the Street? <br /> <br />II. <br /> <br />'Before the phantom of False Morning dies, <br />Choked in the bitter Net that binds the skies, <br />Their feet, bemired with Yesterday, set out <br />For the dark alleys where To-morrow lies. <br /> <br />III. <br /> <br />'Think you, when all their petals they have bruised, <br />And all the fragrances of Life confused, <br />That Night with sweeter rest will comfort these <br />Than us, who still within the Garden mused? <br /> <br />IV. <br /> <br />'Think you the Gold they fight for all day long <br />Is worth the frugal Peace their clamours wrong? <br />Their Titles, and the Name they toil to build--- <br />Will they outlast the echoes of our Song?' <br /> <br />V. <br /> <br />O Sons of Omar, what shall be the close <br />Seek not to know, for no man living knows: <br />But while within your hands the Wine is set <br />Drink ye--to Omar and the Dreaming Rose!<br /><br />Sir Henry Newbolt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-sufi-in-the-city/
