Fitting Perfumes To Prepare, And To Raise Thy Rapture High, Must A Thousand Rosebuds Fair First In Fiery Torments Die. One Small Flask'S Contents To Glean, Whose Sweet Fragrance Aye May Live, Slender As Thy Finger E'En, Must A World Its Treasures Give; Yes, A World Where Life Is Moving, Which, With Impulse Full And Strong, Could Forbode The Bulbul'S Loving, Sweet, And Spirit-Stirring Song. Since They Thus Have Swell'D Our Joy, Should Such Torments Grieve Us, Then? Doth Not Timur'S Rule Destroy Myriad Souls Of Living Men?