Laden with pearls departed from the presence-hall of God that cloud that makes the pulse of life stir in the rose-bud's vein.

And on its way saw Paradise, and trembled with desire that on such exquisite abode it might descend in rain.

A voice sounded from Paradise: 'They wait for you afar, Kabul and Ghazni and Herat, and their new-springing grass;

Scatter the tear from Nadir's eye on the poppy's burning scar, that never more may be put out the poppy's glowing fire!