My soul rose out of its sleep, and said
There were angels once, but they all are dead;
And heaven is empty, and cold and grey
As a world whose heat has burnt away.
The leaves of the tree of life are shed,
The bird who sang in the boughs has fled,
The coffin of night shrouds the corpse of the day,
And winter withers the mirth of May.
Allah and Shitan have gone to bed,
The prophets and saints are lapped in lead,
The shrines are shattered and no men pray,
The law is broken and none obey.
The roses of youth are no longer red,
Bitter life’s wine is, bitter its bread,
The lips of the poets are stopped with clay,
And beauty fades into dull decay.
Then I turned me to Alkoran and read,
And Mohammed whispered, ‘Hold up thy head.
Sin is an enemy hard to slay;
Cry Allah ’l ’Akbar, and fight your way.’