Near Thy Rubies

Near thy rubies, ne'er I bow my head to wine of rosy hue;
'Neath the shadow of the Magian priest, I ne'er the glass eschew.

Now it makes me exile's prisoner, now the comrade close of pain —
What to do I know not, what with this sad fate of mine to do!

E'en the Home of Peace it turneth to the cot of woe for me.
Through the longing for thy dusky mole, when Sham I journey through.

Since 'tis needful 'midst the people that I still reside and move,
If the days ne'er suit me, I shall suit myself the days unto.

Never unto Nev-res, never, will thy sweet words bitter seem;
Speak thou, then, for I'm contented all reproach to hearken to.