The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam Part 2

I sometimes think that never blows so red The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled; That every Hyacinth the Garden wears Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head.

XIX.

And this delightful Herb whose tender Green Fledges the River's Lip on which we lean-- Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!

XX.

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.

XXI.

Lo! some we loved, the loveliest and the best That Time and Fate of all their Vintage prest, Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before, And one by one crept silently to Rest.

XXII.

And we, that now make merry in the Room They left, and Summer dresses in new Bloom, Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth Descend, ourselves to make a Couch--for whom?

XXIII.

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!

XXIV.

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

XXV.

Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd Of the Two Worlds so learnedly, are thrust Like foolish Prophets forth; their Words to Scorn Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.

XXVI.

Oh, come with old Khayyam, and leave the Wise To talk; one thing is certain, that Life flies; One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies; The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.

XXVII.

Myself when young did eagerly frequent Doctor and Saint, and heard great Argument About it and about: but evermore Came out by the same Door as in I went.

XXVIII.

With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow, And with my own hand labour'd it to 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 w.i.l.l.y-nilly flowing: And out of it, as Wind along the Waste, I know not whither, w.i.l.l.y-nilly blowing.

x.x.x.

What, without asking, hither hurried whence?

And, without asking, whither hurried hence!

Another and another Cup to drown The Memory of this Impertinence!

x.x.xI.

Up from Earth's Centre through the seventh Gate I rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate, And many Knots unravel'd by the Road; But not the Knot of Human Death and Fate.

x.x.xII.

There was a Door to which I found no Key: There was a Veil past which I could not see: Some little Talk awhile of ME and THEE There seemed--and then no more of THEE and ME.

x.x.xIII.

Then to the rolling Heav'n itself I cried, Asking, "What Lamp had Destiny to guide Her little Children stumbling in the Dark?"

And--"A blind understanding!" Heav'n replied.

x.x.xIV.

Then to this earthen Bowl did I adjourn My Lip the secret Well of Life to learn: And Lip to Lip it murmur'd--"While you live, Drink!--for once dead you never shall return."

x.x.xV.

I think the Vessel, that with fugitive Articulation answer'd, once did live, And merry-make; and the cold Lip I kiss'd How many Kisses might it take--and give.

x.x.xVI.

For in the Market-place, one Dusk of Day, I watch'd the Potter thumping his wet Clay: And with its all obliterated Tongue It murmur'd--"Gently, Brother, gently, pray!"

x.x.xVII.

Ah, fill the Cup:--what boots it to repeat How Time is slipping underneath our Feet: Unborn TO-MORROW and dead YESTERDAY, Why fret about them if TO-DAY be sweet!