Whose secret Presence, through Creation's veins Running Quicksilver-like eludes your pains; Taking all shapes from Mah to Mahi; and They change and perish all - but He remains;

A Hair perhaps divides the False and True; Yes; and a single Alif were the clue - Could you but find it - to the Treasure-house, And peradventure to The Master…

A moment guess'd - then back behind the Fold Immerst of Darkness round the Drama roll'd Which, for the Pastime of Eternity, He doth Himself contrive, enact, be…

Would you that spangle of Existence spend About the Secret - Quick about it, Friend! A Hair perhaps divides the False and True - And upon what, prithee, may li…