I pray your Highness mark this curious herb: Touch it but lightly, stroke it softly, Sir, And it gives forth an odor sweet and rare; But crush it harshly and you'll make a scent Most disagreeable.

It was the noise Of ancient trees falling while all was still Before the storm, in the long interval Between the gathering clouds and that light breeze Which Germans call the Wind's bride.

Jas in the Arab language is despair, And Min the darkest meaning of a lie. Thus cried the Jessamine among the flowers, How justly doth a lie Draw on its head despair! Among the fragrant spirits of the bowers The boldest and the strongest still was I. Although so fair, Therefore from Heaven A stronger perfume unto me was given Than any blossom of the summer hours.

Among the flowers no perfume is like mine; That which is best in me comes from within. So those in this world who would rise and shine Should seek internal excellence to win. And though 'tis true that falsehood and despair Meet in my name, yet bear it still in mind That where they meet they perish. All is fair When they are gone and nought remains behind.

To Paradise, the Arabs say, Satan could never find the way Until the peacock led him in.

But, as old Swedish legends say, Of all the birds upon that day, The swallow felt the deepest grief, And longed to give her Lord relief, And chirped when any near would come. "Hugswala swala swal honom!" Meaning, as they who tell it deem, Oh, cool, oh, cool and comfort Him!