I sent my Soul through the Invisible, Some letter of that After-life to spell: And by and by my Soul return'd to me, And answer'd: 'I Myself am Heav'n and Hell

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor WitShall lure it back to cancel half a Line,Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

This worldthat was our homefor a brief spellnever brought us anythingbut pain and grief;its a shame that not one of our problemswas ever solved.We departwith a thousand regretsin our hearts.

Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse - and ThouBeside me singing in the Wilderness -And Wilderness is Paradise enow.

Wake! For the Sun, who scatter'd into flightThe Stars before him from the Field of Night,Drives Night along with them from Heav'n,and strikesThe Sultan's Turret with a Shaft of Light

A book of verses underneath the boughA flask of wine, a loaf of bread and thouBeside me singing in the wildernessAnd wilderness is paradise now.

Every particle of dust on a patch of earthWas a sun-cheek or brow of the morning star;Shake the dust off your sleeve carefully--That too was a delicate, fair face.

Now the New Year reviving old Desires,The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires.

Her sabah yeni bir gün doğarken,Bir gün de eksilir ömürden;Her şafak bir hırsız gibidirElinde bir fenerle gelen.Dünya dediğin bir bakışımızdır bizim;Ceyhun nehri kanlı gözyaşımızdır bizim;Cehennem, boşuna dert çektiğimiz günler,Cennetse gün ettiğimiz günlerdir bizim.