غزل شمارهٔ 66

This is a world that like to it, each boundless is, and infinite;

An image each, a fantasy, a smoke-wave from the torch in me;

Two moments this and that endure, I only everlasting, sure;

That of but little worth, as this, my self the sole true coin is;

Here to abide, and there to dwell, both here and there a little spell;

What is my labour, here and there? The lamentation of despair!

This world and that my path waylay, in this and that is loss my pay;

Each my brief nest and dwelling-place – both let me kindle, and both raze!