Whisper'd one to Wámik, "O thou
Victim of the wound of Azra,
What is it like, that a shadow
Movest thou about in silence
Meditating night and day?"
Wámik answer'd, "Even this--
To fly with Azra to the desert:
There by so remote a fountain
That, whichever way one travell'd
League on league, one yet should never,
Never meet the face of man--
There to pitch my tent--for ever
There to gaze on my Belovèd;
Gaze, till gazing out of gazing
Grew to being her I gaze on,
She and I no more, but in one
Undivided being blended.
All that is not One must ever
Suffer with the wound of absence;
And whoever in Love's city
Enters, finds but room for One,
And but in Oneness Union."
"DO WELL"
Do well, that in thy turn well may betide thee;
And turn from ill, that ill may turn beside thee.