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Burton, Sir Richard - THE KASÎDAH 08 2

To all that breathe our upper air
the hands of Dest'iny ever deal,
In fixed and equal parts, their shares
of joy and sorrow, woe and weal.

How comes it, then, our span of days
in hunting wealth and fame we spend
Why strive we (and all humans strive)
for vain and visionary end?

Reply: mankind obeys a law
that bids him labour, struggle, strain;
The Sage well knowing its unworth,
the Fool a-dreaming foolish gain.

And who, mid e'en the Fools, but feels
that half the joy is in the race
For wealth and fame and place, nor sighs
when comes success to crown the chase?

With this poor life, with this mean world
I fain complete what in me lies;
"I strive to perfect this my me;
my sole ambition's to be wise."

When doctors differ who decides
amid the milliard-beaded throng?
Who save the madman dares to cry:
"'Tis I am right, you all are wrong?"

Do what thy manhood bids thee do,
from none but self expect applause;
He noblest lives and noblest dies
who makes and keeps his self-made laws.

All other Life is living Death,
a world where none but Phantoms dwell,
A breath, a wind, a sound, a voice,
a tinkling of the camel-bell.