I am a scorner of the earth—
Where life is a handful of grains.
My nature, like a hermit’s,
Loves wild solitude.
No breeze for me, no nightingale;
No song of love,. no song in the air.
I wing away from gardens,
Embowered with flowers enticing.
In wilderness the winds
Sharpen my ethereal flight.
I hunger not for birds of prey;
Mine is an austere life.
O East and west are for petty birds;
Mine is the world of boundless skies.
I stoop not to make a nest;
I am a dervish among the birds.