Zaburi Ajam [Electronic resources] نسخه متنی
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The East, that holds the heavens fastWithin the noose its fancy cast,Its spirits bonds are all united,The flames of its desire have died.The burning glow of living birthPulses no more in its dark earth;It stands upon the river sideAnd gazes at the surging tide.Faint, faint the fires of worship beIn temple and in sanctuary;The Magian still his cup would pass,But stale the wine is in his glass.The vision of the West is blind,Illusion fills the Western mind;Drunken with magic scent and hue,It bows before the great untrue.Swifter it spins than heavens sphere;Death is a gentler ravisher;Its fingers have so torn my soul,Never again can it be whole.Of the earth earthy, it would tryTo emulate the ancient sky;A rogue, a cheat, of works immense,With pivot none, and little sense.The East is waste and desolate,The West is more bewildered yetThe ardent quest inspires no more,Death reigns supreme the whole world oer.Bring me the wine of hearts delight,And spread the banquest of the night;Give me the bold, adventurous eye,And in loves transport let me die.