On Religion 

And an old priest said, Speak to us of Religion.
     And he said:
     Have I spoken this day of aught else?
     Is not religion all deeds and all reflection,
     And that which is neither deed nor reflection, but a wonder and a surprise ever springing in the soul, even while the hand hew the stone or tend the loom?
     Who can separate his faith from his actions, or his belief from his occupations?
     Who can spread his hours before him, saying, “This for God and this for myself’ This for my soul, and this other for my body?”
     All your hours are wings that beat through space from self to self.
     He who wears his morality but as his best garment were better naked.
     The wind and the sun will tear no holes in his skin.
     And he who defines his conduct by ethics imprisons his song-bird in a cage.
     The freest song comes not through bars and wires.
     And he to whom worshipping is a window, to open but also to shut, has not yet visited the house of his soul whose windows are from dawn to dawn.

     Your daily life is your temple and your religion.
     Whenever you enter into it take with you your all.
     Take the plough and the forge and the mallet and the lute,
     The things you have fashioned in necessity or for delight. 
     For in revery you cannot rise above your achievements nor fall lower than your failures.
     And take with you all men:
     For in adoration you cannot fly higher than their hopes nor humble yourself lower than their despair.

     And if you would know God be not therefore a solver of riddles.
     Rather look about you and you shall see Him playing with your children.
     And look into space; you shall see Him walking in the cloud, outstretching His arms in the lightning and descending in rain.
      You shall see Him smiling in flowers, then rising and waving His hands in trees.

From The Prophet (Knopf, 1923). This poem is in the public domain.

Defeat

Defeat, my Defeat, my solitude and my aloofness;
You are dearer to me than a thousand triumphs,
And sweeter to my heart than all world-glory.
 
Defeat, my Defeat, my self-knowledge and my defiance,
Through you I know that I am yet young and swift of foot
And not to be trapped by withering laurels.
And in you I have found aloneness
And the joy of being shunned and scorned.
 
Defeat, my Defeat, my shining sword and shield,
In your eyes I have read
That to be enthroned is to be enslaved,
And to be understood is to be leveled down,
And to be grasped is but to reach one's fullness
And like a ripe fruit to fall and be consumed.
 
Defeat, my Defeat, my bold companion,
You shall hear my songs and my cries and my silences,
And none but you shall speak to me of the beating of wings,
And urging of seas,
And of mountains that burn in the night,
And you alone shall climb my steep and rocky soul.
 
Defeat, my Defeat, my deathless courage,
You and I shall laugh together with the storm,
And together we shall dig graves for all that die in us,
And we shall stand in the sun with a will,
And we shall be dangerous.

This poem is in the public domain. 

Love

They say the jackal and the mole 
Drink from the selfsame stream 
Where the lion comes to drink. 
And they say the eagle and the vulture 
Dig their beaks into the same carcass, 
And are at peace, one with the other, 
In the presence of the dead thing. 
 
O love, whose lordly hand 
Has bridled my desires, 
And raised my hunger and my thirst 
To dignity and pride, 
Let not the strong in me and the constant 
Eat the bread or drink the wine 
That tempt my weaker self. 
 
Let me rather starve, 
And let my heart parch with thirst, 
And let me die and perish, 
Ere I stretch my hand 
To a cup you did not fill, 
Or a bowl you did not bless.

This poem is in the public domain. 

On Marriage

Then Almitra spoke again and said, And what of Marriage, master?
      And he answered saying:
      You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.
      You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.
      Ay, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.
      But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
      And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.

     Love one another, but make not a bond of love:
      Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
      Fill each other’s cup but drink not from one cup.
      Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.
      Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of your be alone,
      Even as the strings of the lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.

     Give your hearts, but not into each other’s keeping.
      For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
      And stand together yet not too near together:
      For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
      And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s shadow.

From The Prophet (Knopf, 1923). This poem is in the public domain.

On Pain 

And a woman spoke, saying, Tell us of Pain.
     And he said:
     Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.
     Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.
     And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy;
     And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields.
     And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief.

     Much of your pain is self-chosen.
     It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self.
     Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquility:
     For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by the tender hand of the Unseen,
     And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has moistened with His own sacred tears.

From The Prophet (Knopf, 1923). This poem is in the public domain.