50 
The Impotence of Thought to perceive Reality. 
 
 
 
VI 
 
THE CURTAIN 
 
 
Thy podex, like a rose, within 
Thy buttocks, sprays of jessamine, 
 
Buds to my kisses ;  then the wine 
Sets this old head of mine aspin, 
 
So that I push thee to thy knees— 
A worship, darling, not a sin. 
 
Deep as I plunge, I do not break 
Within the velvet of thy skin. 
 
Do what I will, thy Self is hid 
From me by envy of the Jinn. 
 
So, when I think, I cannot pierce 
The truth of things ;  I cannot win 
 
Unto the real ;  life’s wheel is kept 
From turning by its axle-pin.1 
 
But swing thine hips and smile upon 
The hideous world’s malicious grin ! 
 
Then when we end, the task is light : 
Bid El Qahar once more begin2 ! 
 
 
 
1.  The very cause of life — desire — is that 
which hinders its attaining to higher planes.  A