If I had but a garden for a bower Wherein the roses of Damascus flower, How happy, with the Luzumiyat in hand, To pass the afternoon and sunset hour!

A little doubt is better than total credulity.

They recite their sacred books, although the fact informs me that these are a fiction from first to last. O Reason, thou (alone) speakest the truth. Then perish the fools who forged the (religious) traditions or interpreted them!

How sad that I returned, how sad,Instead of dying at Baghdad!I say, whene'er things fall amiss,"My coming home hath brought me this."

This world is such an abode that if those present here Have their wits entire, they will never weep for the absent ones.

Do not unjustly eat what the water has given up, and do not desire as food the flesh of slaughtered animals, Or the white (milk) of mothers who intended its pure draught for their young, not for noble ladies. And do not grieve the unsuspecting birds by taking their eggs; for injustice is the worst of crimes. And spare the honey which the bees get betimes by their industry from the flowers of fragrant plants; For they did not store it that it might belong to others, nor did they gather it for bounty and gifts. I washed my hands of all this; and would that I had perceived my way ere my temples grew hoar!

Fear of death pushed Seven Sleepers into a cave, Made Noah and his son build a ship; Nor did Moses and Adam think it pleasant to die Though they were promised paradise.

And I, albeit I come in Time's late hour, Achieve what lay not in the ancients' power.

They know me well. How could they conceal a resplendent sun?

The holy fights by Moslem heroes fought,The saintly works by Christian hermits wroughtAnd those of Jewry or of Sabian creed—Their valour reaches not the Indian's deedWhom zeal and awe religiously inspire To cast his body on the flaming pyre.