The Book of Jade

Prelude

I am a little tired of all things mortal;
I see through half-shut eyelids languorous
The old monotonous
Gold sun set slowly through the western portal,
Where I recline upon my deep dîwân,
In Ispahân.

I am a little weary of the Persian
Girl that I lov’d; I am quite tir’d of love;
And I am weary of
The smoking censers, and the sweet diversion
Of stroking Leila’s jasmine-scented hair,
I thought so fair.

At last I think I am quite tired of beauty;
Why do the stars shine always in the sky?
I think if I might die,
Something more sweet, less tiring than the duty
Of kissing her, might be; I am tired of myrrh,
And kissing her.

Khaled, come, come, and slowly move the scented
Gold narghilé away; let the lyres cease.
And now a little peace!
For see, moon-faced Leila hath repented
Of singing Hafiz’ songs melodiously,
And languidly.

Surely all things are vain, and great thanksgiving
Is due not; surely all things now are vain;
And all my heart is fain
Of something, something, far too great for living;
Nothing is very sad, nor wonderful,
Nor beautiful.