Calcutta nr. 46
Every brick that is upon the parapet of a palace
Is the locks of a loved one & the calamity of a soul
The clay that like that is beneath thy feet like that (clay)
That prairie holds a wazir & the head of a sultan.
The thorn, that's trodden down of every cow, maybe.
Sprung from some loveling's tress, some fair one's brow may be:
Each brick, on palace-wall that standeth now, maybe,
A vizier's hand or head of Sultan prow may be.