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 At what strange prices are we bought and sold,

All is not golden that is bought with gold,

The foolish costliness of worthless things—

O for the scorn to tell it, stern and bold!

Yet is it well the vain world never knows

True riches from their counterfeited shows,

For what would happen if the vine were dear,

And men must sell a world to buy a rose!

Allah is good! he blinds the rich man's eyes

That he the weary and the worthless buys,

Gaining great store of all uncomely things,

And leaves the lovely for the poor and wise.

I would not change the song the flute-girl sings

For all the diadems of weary kings,

His joys the Sultan shares with all the world,

His cares he keeps—a chain of glittering rings.