I watch'd the Potter thumping his wet Clay: How many Kisses might it take - and give!įor in the Market-place, one Dusk of Day, I lean'd, the secret Well of Life to learn:Īnd Lip to Lip it murmur'd - "While you live,ĭrink! - for, once dead, you never shall return."Īnd merry-make, and the cold Lip I kiss'd, Her little Children stumbling in the Dark?"Īnd - "A blind Understanding!" Heav'n replied. Then to the rolling Heav'n itself I cried, There was - and then no more of Thee and Me. There was the Veil through which I could not see: There was the Door to which I found no Key: I rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate, Up from Earth's Centre through the Seventh Gate Nor Whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing: The Flower that once has blown forever dies.ĭoctor and Saint, and heard great ArgumentĪnd with my own hand labour'd it to grow:Īnd this was all the Harvest that I reap'd. One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies To talk one thing is certain, that Life flies Oh, come with old Khayyam, and leave the Wise Like foolish Prophets forth their Works to ScornĪre scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust. Of the Two Worlds so learnedly, are thrust Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd "Fools! Your Reward is neither Here nor There!" Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and - sans End!Īnd those that after some To-morrow stare,Ī Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earthĭescend, ourselves to make a Couch - for whom?Īh, make the most of what we may yet spend, They left, and Summer dresses in new Bloom, Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before, That Time and Fate of all their Vintage prest, Lo! some we loved, the loveliest and best Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years. To-day of past Regrets and future Fears. The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled ĭropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head.Īnd this delightful Herb whose tender Greenįledges the River's Lip on which we lean -įrom what once lovely Lip it springs unseen! I sometimes think that never blows so red Stamps o'er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep. The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep:Īnd Bahram, that great Hunter - the Wild Ass Whose Doorways are alternate Night and Day, Lighting a little Hour or two - is gone.Īnd those who husbanded the Golden Grain,Īnd those who flung it to the Winds like Rain,Īlike to no such aureate Earth are turn'd The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw." Laughing," she says, "into the World I blow: Look to the Rose that blows about us - "Lo, What? for ourselves, who know not if we shallīreathe out the very Breath we now breathe in! Some for the Glories of This World and someĪh, take the Cash, and let the Promise go, Where name of Slave and Sultan is forgot -Īnd Peace is Mahmud on his Golden Throne!Ī Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread, - and Thou That just divides the desert from the sown, With me along the strip of Herbage strown Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?Īnd this first Summer month that brings the Roseīut come with old Khayyam, and leave the Lot Morning a thousand Roses brings, you say The Leaves of Life kep falling one by one. The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop, Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run, To fly - and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing. That yellow Cheek of hers to incarnadine.Ĭome, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring Red Wine!" - the Nightingale cries to the Rose High piping Pehlevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine! Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.Īnd Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one Knows īut still the Vine her ancient ruby yields,Īnd David's Lips are lock't but in divine Where the White Hand of Moses on the Bough You know how little while we have to stay, The Tavern shouted - "Open then the Door! Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight:Īnd Lo! the Hunter of the East has caughtĭreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the SkyĪnd, as the Cock crew, those who stood before Translated into English in 1859 by Edward FitzGerald Rubaiyaat ‘E’ Omar Khayyam was translated to English by Edward Fitzgerald (1809-1883). His Rubaiyaat is translated to more than 40 languages. Omar Khayyam is the most famous Persian astronomer, mathematician and poet. 1048), and died within the first quarter of the twelfth century (probably, A.D. Omar Khayyam was born at Naishapur in Khurasan (north-east province of Iran) in the latter half of the eleventh century (probably, A.D. Rubaiyaat is a collection of some 150 Persian quatrains and was Hakim Abolfath Omar Ebn Ibrahim Khayyam Neishapuri,
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