The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (tr. Fitzgerald, 3rd edition)

Wake! For the Sun who scatter'd into flightThe Stars before him from the Field of Night,Drives Night along with them from Heav'n, and strikesThe Sultán's Turret with a Shaft of Light.

Before the phantom of False morning died,Methought a Voice within the Tavern cried,"When all the Temple is prepared within,"Why nods the drowsy Worshipper outside?"

III

And, as the Cock crew, those who stood beforeThe Tavern shouted--"Open then the Door!"You know how little while we have to stay,"And, once departed, may return no more."

Now the New Year reviving old Desires,The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,Where the WHITE HAND OF MOSES on the BoughPuts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.

Iram indeed is gone with all his Rose,And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;But still a Ruby gushes from the Vine,And many a Garden by the Water blows.

And David's lips are lockt; but in divineHigh-piping Péhlevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!"Red Wine !"--the Nightingale cries to theRose That sallow cheek of her's to' incarnadine

VII

Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of SpringYour Winter-garment of Repentance fling:The Bird of Time has but a little wayTo flutter--and the Bird is on the Wing.

VIII

Whether at Naishápúr 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.

Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say:Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?And this first Summer month that brings the RoseShall take Jamshyd and Kaikobád away.

Well, let it take them! What have we to doWith Kaikobád the Great, or Kaikhosrú?Let Zál and Rustum thunder as they will,Or Hátim call to Supper--heed not you.

With me along the strip of Herbage strownThat just divides the desert from the sown,Where name of Slave and Sultán is forgot--And Peace to Máhmúd on his golden Throne!

XII

A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread---and ThouBeside me singing in the Wilderness--Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!

XIII

Some for the Glories of This World; and someSigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come;Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go,Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!

XIV

Look to the blowing Rose about us--Lo,"Laughing," she says, "into the world I blow,"At once the silken tassel of my Purse"Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."

And those who husbanded the Golden grain,And those who flung it to the winds like Rain,Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn'dAs, buried once, Men want dug up again.

XVI

The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts uponTurns Ashes--or it prospers; and anon,Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face,Lighting a little hour or two--was gone.

XVII

Think, in this batter'd CaravanseraiWhose Portals are alternate Night and Day,How Sultán after Sultán with his PompAbode his destin'd Hour, and went his way.

XVIII

They say the Lion and the Lizard keepThe Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep:And Bahrám, that great Hunter--the Wild AssStamps o'er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep.

XIX

I sometimes think that never blows so redThe Rose as where some buried Cæsar bled;That every Hyacinth the Garden wearsDropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head.

And this reviving Herb whose tender GreenFledges the River-Lip on which we lean--Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knowsFrom what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!

XXI

Ah, my Belovéd, fill the Cup that clearsTO-DAY of past Regret and future Fears:To-morrow!--Why, To-morrow I may beMyself with Yesterday's Sev'n thousand Years.

XXII

For some we loved, the loveliest and the bestThat from his Vintage rolling Time has prest,Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,And one by one crept silently to rest.

XXIII

And we, that now make merry in the RoomThey left, and Summer dresses in new bloom,Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of EarthDescend--ourselves to make a Couch--for whom?

XXIV

Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,Before we too into the Dust descend;Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie,Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and--sans End!

XXV

Alike for those who for TO-DAY prepare,And those that after some TO-MORROW stare,A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries,"Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There."

XXVI

Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'dOf the Two Worlds so learnedly, are thrustLike foolish Prophets forth; their Words to ScornAre scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.

XXVII

Myself when young did eagerly frequentDoctor and Saint, and heard great argumentAbout it and about: but evermoreCame out by the same door where in I went.

XXVIII

With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow,And with my own hand wrought to make it grow;And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd--"I came like Water, and like Wind I go."

XXIX

Into this Universe, and Why not knowing,Nor Whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing;And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,I know not Whither, willy-nilly blowing.

XXX

What, without asking, hither hurried Whence?And, without asking, Whither hurried hence!Oh, many a Cup of this forbidden WineMust drown the memory of that insolence!

XXXI

Up from Earth's Centre through the Seventh GateI rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate,And many a Knot unravel'd by the Road;But not the Master-knot of Human Fate.

XXXII

There was the Door to which I found no Key;There was the Veil through which I could not see:Some little talk awhile of ME and THEEThere was--and then no more of THEE and ME.

XXXIII

Earth could not answer; nor the Seas that mournIn flowing Purple, of their Lord forlorn;Nor rolling Heaven, with all his Signs reveal'dAnd hidden by the sleeve of Night and Morn.

XXXIV

Then of the THEE IN ME who works behindThe Veil, I lifted up my hands to findA Lamp amid the Darkness; and I heard,As from Without--"THE ME WITHIN THEE BLIND!"

XXXV

Then to the Lip of this poor earthen UrnI lean'd, the Secret of my Life to learn:And Lip to Lip it murmur'd---"While you live,"Drink!--for, once dead, you never shall return."

XXXVI

I think the Vessel, that with fugitiveArticulation answer'd, once did live,And drink; and Ah! the passive Lip I kiss'd,How many Kisses might it take--and give!

XXXVII

For I remember stopping by the wayTo watch a Potter thumping his wet Clay,And with its all-obliterated TongueIt murmur'd--"Gently, Brother, gently, pray?"

XXXVIII

Listen--a moment listen!--Of the samePoor Earth from which that Human Whisper cameThe luckless Mould in which Mankind was castThey did compose, and call'd him by the name.

XXXIX

And not a drop that from our Cups we throwFor Earth to drink of, but may steal belowTo quench the fire of Anguish in some EyeThere hidden--far beneath, and long ago.

As then the Tulip for her morning supOf Heav'nly Vintage from the soil looks up,Do you devoutly do the like, till Heav'nTo Earth invert you like an empty Cup.

XLI

Perplext no more with Human or Divine,To-morrow's tangle to the winds resign,And lose your fingers in the tresses ofThe Cypress-slender Minister of Wine.

XLII

And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press,End in what All begins and ends in--Yes;Think then you are TO-DAY what YESTERDAYYou were--TO-MORROW you shall not be less.

XLIII

So when the Angel of the darker DrinkAt last shall find you by the river-brink,And, offering his Cup, invite your SoulForth to your Lips to quaff--you shall not shrink.

XLIV

Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside,And naked on the Air of Heaven ride,Wer't not a Shame--wer't not a shame for himIn this clay carcase crippled to abide?

XLV

'Tis but a Tent where takes his one-day's restA Sultan to the realm of Death addrest;The Sultan rises, and the dark FerráshStrikes, and prepares it for another Guest.

XLVI

And fear not lest Existence closing yourAccount, and mine, should know the like no more;The Eternal Sáki from the Bowl has pour'dMillions of Bubbles like us, and will pour.

XLVII

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 heedsAs the Sev'n Seas should heed a pebble-cast.

XLVIII

A Moment's Halt--a momentary tasteOf BEING from the Well amid the Waste--And LO!--the phantom Caravan has reach'dThe NOTHING it set out from--Oh, make haste!

XLIX

Would you that spangle of Existence spendAbout THE SECRET--quick about it, Friend!A Hair perhaps divides the False and True--And upon what, prithee does Life depend?

A Hair perhaps divides the False and True;Yes; and a single Alif were the clue--Could you but find it--to the Treasure-house,And peradventure to THE MASTER too;

Whose secret Presence, through Creation's veinsRunning Quicksilver-like eludes your pains;Taking all shapes from Máh to Máhi; andThey change and perish all--but He remains;

LII

A moment guess'd--then back behind the FoldImmerst of Darkness round the Drama roll'dWhich, for the Pastime of Eternity,He does Himself contrive, enact, behold.

LIII

But if in vain, down on the stubborn floorOf Earth, and up to Heav'n's unopening Door,You gaze TO-DAY, while You are You--how thenTO-MORROW, You when shall be You no more?

LIV

Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuitOf This and That endeavour and dispute;Better be jocund with the fruitful GrapeThan sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.

You know, my Friends, with what a brave CarouseI made a Second Marriage in my house;Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed,And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse.

LVI

For "IS" and "IS-NOT" though with Rule and Line,And "UP-AND-DOWN" by Logic I defineOf all that one should care to fathom, IWas never deep in anything but--Wine.

LVII

Ah, but my Computations, People say,Reduced the Year to better reckoning?--Nay,'Twas only striking from the CalendarUnborn To-morrow, and dead Yesterday.

LVIII

And lately, by the Tavern Door agape,Came shining through the Dusk an Angel ShapeBearing a Vessel on his Shoulder; andHe bid me taste of it; and 'twas--the Grape!

LIX

The Grape that can with Logic absoluteThe Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute:The sovereign Alchemist that in a triceLife's leaden metal into Gold transmute:

The mighty Mahmúd, Allah-breathing Lord,That all the misbelieving and black HordeOf Fears and Sorrows that infest the SoulScatters before him with his whirlwind Sword.

LXI

Why, be this Juice the growth of God, who dareBlaspheme the twisted tendril as a Snare?A Blessing, we should use it, should we not?And if a Curse--why, then. Who set it there?

LXII

I must abjure the Balm of Life, I must,Scared by some After-reckoning ta'en on trust,Or lured with Hope of some Diviner Drink,To fill the Cup--when crumbled into Dust!

LXIII

Oh threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise!One thing at least is certain--This Life flies;One thing is certain and the rest is Lies;The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.

LXIV

Strange, is it not? that of the myriads whoBefore us pass'd the door of Darkness through,Not one returns to tell us of the Road,Which to discover we must travel too.

LXV

The Revelations of Devout and Learn'dWho rose before us, and as Prophets burn'd,Are all but Stories, which, awoke from SleepThey told their fellows, and to Sleep return'd.

LXVI

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 :"

LXVII

Heav'n but the Vision of fulfill'd Desire,And Hell the Shadow of a Soul on fire,Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves,So late emerg'd from, shall so soon expire.

LXVIII

We are no other than a moving rowOf Magic Shadow-shapes that come and goRound with the Sun-illumin'd Lantern heldIn Midnight by the Master of the Show;

LXIX

Impotent Pieces of the Game He playsUpon this Chequer-board of Nights and Days;Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays,And one by one back in the Closet lays.

LXX

The Ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes,But Right or Left as strikes the Player goes;And He that toss'd you down into the Field,He knows about it all--HE knows--HE knows!

LXXI

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,Moves on: nor all your Piety and WitShall lure it back to cancel half a Line,Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.

LXXII

And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky,Whereunder crawling coop'd we live and die,Lift not your hands to It for help--for ItAs impotently rolls as you or I.

LXXIII

With Earth's first Clay They did the Last Man knead,And there of the Last Harvest sow'd the Seed:And the first Morning of Creation wroteWhat the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.

LXXIV

YESTERDAY This Day's Madness did prepare;TO-MORROW'S Silence, Triumph, or Despair:Drink! for you know not whence you came, nor why:Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where.

LXXV

I tell you this--when, started from the Goal,Over the flaming shoulders of the FoalOf Heav'n Parwin and Mushtari they flung,In my predestin'd Plot of Dust and Soul.

LXXVI

The Vine had struck a fibre: which aboutIf clings my Being--let the Dervish flout;Of my Base metal may be filed a Key,That shall unlock the Door he howls without.

LXXVII

And this I know: whether the one True LightKindle to Love, or Wrath-consume me quite,One Flash of It within the Tavern caughtBetter than in the Temple lost outright.

LXXVIII

What! out of senseless Nothing to provokeA conscious Something to resent the yokeOf unpermitted Pleasure, under painOf Everlasting Penalties, if broke!

LXXIX

What! from his helpless Creature be repaidPure Gold for what he lent us dross-allay'd--Sue for a Debt we never did contract,And cannot answer--Oh the sorry trade!

LXXX

Oh Thou, who didst with pitfall and with ginBeset the Road I was to wander in,Thou wilt not with Predestin'd Evil roundEnmesh, and then impute my Fall to Sin!

LXXXI

Oh Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make,And ev'n with Paradise devise the Snake:For all the Sin wherewith the Face of ManIs blacken'd--Man's Forgiveness give--and take!

LXXXII

As under cover of departing DaySlunk hunger-stricken Ramazán away,Once more within the Potter's house aloneI stood, surrounded by the Shapes of Clay.

LXXXIII

Shapes of all Sorts and Sizes, great and small,That stood along the floor and by the wall;And some loquacious Vessels were; and someListen'd perhaps, but never talk'd at all.

LXXXIV

Said one of them--"Surely not in vainMy substance of the common Earth was ta'enAnd to this Figure moulded, to be broke,Or trampled back to shapeless Earth again."

LXXXV

Then said a Second--"Ne'er a peevish Boy"Would break the Bowl from which he drank in joy;"And He that with his hand the Vessel made"Will surely not in after Wrath destroy."

LXXXVI

After a momentary silence spakeSome Vessel of a more ungainly Make;"They sneer at me for leaning all awry:"What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?"

LXXXVII

Whereat some one of the loquacious Lot--I think a Stiff pipkin--waxing hot--"All this of Pot and Potter--Tell me, then,"Who makes--Who sells--Who buys--Who is the Pot?"

LXXXVIII

"Why," said another, "Some there are who tell"Of one who threatens he will toss to Hell"The luckless Pots he marr'd in making--Pish!"He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well."

LXXXIX

"Well," murmur'd one, "Let whoso make or buy,"My Clay with long Oblivion is gone dry:"But fill me with the old familiar Juice,"Methinks I might recover by and by."

So while the Vessels one by one were speaking,The little Moon look'd in that all were seeking:And then they jogg'd each other, "Brother! Brother!"Now for the Porter's shoulder-knot a-creaking!"

XCI

Ah, with the Grape my fading life provide,And wash the Body whence the Life has died,And lay me, shrouded in the living Leaf,By some not unfrequented Garden-side.

XCII

That ev'n my buried Ashes such a snareOf Vintage shall fling up into the AirAs not a True-believer passing byBut shall be overtaken unaware.

XCIII

Indeed the Idols I have loved so longHave done my credit in Men's Eye much wrong;Have drown'd my Glory in a shallow Cup,And sold my Reputation for a Song.

XCIV

Indeed, indeed, Repentence oft beforeI swore--but was I sober when I swore?And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-handMy thread-bare Penitence apieces tore.

XCV

And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel,And robb'd me of my Robe of Honour--Well,I wonder often what the Vintners buyOne half so precious as the stuff they sell.

XCVI

Yet Ah, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!That Youth's sweet-scented manuscript should close!The Nightingale that in the branches sang,Ah whence, and whither flown again, who knows!

XCVlI

Would but the Desert of the Fountain yieldOne glimpse--if dimly, yet indeed, reveal'd,To which the fainting Traveller might spring,As springs the trampled herbage of the field!

XCVIII

Would but some winged Angel ere too lateArrest the yet unfolded Roll of Fate,And make the stern Recorder otherwiseEnregister, or quite obliterate!

XCIX

Ah Love! could you and I with Him conspireTo grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,Would not we shatter it to bits--and thenRe-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!

Yon rising Moon that looks for us again--How oft hereafter will she wax and wane;How oft hereafter rising look for usThrough this same Garden--and for one in vain!

And when like her, oh Sáki, you shall passAmong the Guests Star-scatter'd on the Grass,And in your blissful errand reach the spotWhere I made One--turn down an empty Glass!

TAMÁM