Yet, in this frame of things, gleams of immortal life,
Show where some servant of God wrought into some high shape,
Work whose perfection is still bright with the splendor of love,
Love, the well-sping of life; Love, on which death has no claim.
Swiftly its tyrannous flood time's long current may roll
Other ages in Love's calendar are set down,
Ages as yet unnamed, far from this now-flowing hour.
Love is Gabriel's breath, Love is Muhammad's strong heart,
Love is the envoy of God, Love the utterance of God,
Even our mortal clay, touched by Love's ecstasy, glows
Love is a new-pressed wine, Love is the goblet of kings,
Love the priest of the shrine, Love the commander of hosts,
Love the son of the road, counting a thousand homes.
Love is the plectrum that draws music from life's taut strings-
Love is the warmth of life, Love is the radiance of life.
ALLAMA IQBAL, "The Poet of the East"
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