1. As though from a discourse dropped, like the hum
Of bees in the blossoms of a fresh-cut bough,

2. And though the night's darkness bends over it
Men pass, and the polished sword glints now.

3. We strain at the skills of each lordly knight
Miry or clean, yet sorrow moves you not,

4. But only a heart that stays young in the breast,
A shining hand or a bird in its thought.

5. It hovers as though its love were a spear
At night's end over the Quran embossed.