Portions of The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

7

Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring

Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling:

The Bird of Time has but a little way

To flutter--and the Bird is on the Wing.

8

Whether at Naishapur or Babylon,

Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run,

The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop,

The Leaves of Life keep falling one by one.

9

Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say:

Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?

And this first Summer month that brings the Rose

Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.

11

With me along the strip of the Herbage strewn

That just divides the desert from the sown,

Where name of Slave and Sultan is forgot--

And Peace to Mahmud on his golden Throne!

12

A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,

A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread--and Thou

Beside me singing in the Wilderness--

Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!

13

Some for the Glories of This World; and some

Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come;

Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go,

Nor heed the rumble of a distant drum!

21

Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears

TO-DAY of past Regrets and future Fears:

To-morrow!--Why, To-morrow I may be

Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n thousand Years.

24

Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,

Before we too into Dust descend;

Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie,

Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and --sans End!

32

There was the Door to which I found no key;

There was the Veil through which I might not see:

Some little talk awhile of ME and THEE

There was--and then no more of THEE and ME.

37

For I remember stopping by the way

To watch a Potter thumping his wet Clay:

And with its all-obliterated Tongue

It murmer'd--"Gently, Brother, gently, pray!"

45

'Tis but a Tent where takes his one day's rest

A Sultan to the realm of Death addrest;

The Sultan rises, and the dark Ferrash

Strikes, and prepares it for another Guest.

46

And fear not lest Existence closing your

Account, and mine, should know the like no more;

The Eternal Saki from that Bowl has pour'd

Millions of Bubbles like us, and will pour.

47

When You and I behind the Veil are past,

oh, but the long, long while the World shall last,

Which of our Coming and Departure heeds

As the Sea's self should heed a pebble-cast.

49

Would you that spangle of Existence spend

About THE SECRET--quick about it, Friend!

A Hair perhaps divides the False and True--

And upon what, prithee, may life depend?

53

But if in vain, down the stubborn floor

Of Earth, and up to Heav'n's unopening Door

You gaze TO-DAY, while You are You--how then

TO-MORROW, when You shall be You no more?

54

Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuit

Of This and That endeavor and dispute;

Better be jocund with the fruitful Grape

Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.

55

You know, my Friends, with what brave Carouse

I made a Second Marriage in my house;

Divorced old barren Reason from my bed,

And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse.

66

I sent my Soul through the Invisible,

Some Letter of that After-life to spell:

And by and by my Soul return'd to me,

And answer'd "I Myself am Heav'n and Hell:"

71

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,

Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit

Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,

Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.

83

Shapes of all Sorts and Sizes, great and small,

That stood along the floor and by the wall;

And some loquacious Vessels were; and some

Listen'd perhaps, but never talk'd at all.

101

And when like her, oh Saki, you shall pass

Among the Guests Star-scatter'd on the Grass,

And in your joyous errand reach the spot

Where I made One--turn down an empty Glass!

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