I tell you this—When, started from the Goal,
Over the flaming shoulders of the Foal
Of Heav’n Parwin and Mushtari they flung,
In my predestined Plot of Dust and Soul.
The Vine had struck a fiber: which about
It clings my Being—let the Dervish flout;
Of my Base metal may be filed a Key
That shall unlock the Door he howls without.