His contempt has no bound. His Love's depth none can sound. His wrath on men of God is tempered in manner odd.

Nurtured in mimicry's gloom to tread like sheep his doom but he is much inclined to creative bent of mind.

In midst of surging throng he keeps aloof for long, like lamp, he lights the hall, but has not mate at all.

Faqr can like sun of morn with light the mead adorn its speech is frank and free, though meanings tenuous be.

Its views vary with the rest, it deems them right and best; its innate slates unknown to mystics with renown.