The Secret Must Be Kept

How Much More Of The Mosque, Of Prayer And Fasting? Better Go Drunk And Begging Round The Taverns. Khayyam, Drink Wine, For Soon This Clay Of Yours Will Make A Cup, Bowl, One Day A Jar. When Once You Hear The Roses Are In Bloom, Then Is The Time, My Love, To Pour The Wine; Houris And Palaces And Heaven And Hell- These Are But Fairy-tales, Forget Them All.

Think Not I Dread To See My Spirit Fly, Through The Dark Gates Of Fell Mortality; Death Has No Terrors When The Life Is True; 'tis Living Ill That Makes Us Fear To Die.

In Monasteries, Seminaries, Retreats And Synagogues, They Fear Hell And Seek Paradise. Those Who Know The Mysteries Of God Never Let That Seed Be Planted In Their Souls.

This Clay, So Strong Of Heart, Of Sense So Fine,surely Such Clay Is More Than Half Divine--'tis Only Fools Speak Evil Of The Clay,the Very Stars Are Made Of Clay Like Mine.

Ah Love! Could You And I With Him Conspire To Grasp This Sorry Scheme Of Things Entire Would We Not Shatter It To Bits-and Then Re-mould It Nearer To The Heart's Desire?