They say the Lion and the Lizard keep
 The Courts where Jamshýd gloried and drank deep:
 And Bahrám, that great Hunter—the Wild Ass
 Stamps o'er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep.

XX

The Palace that to Heav'n his pillars threw,
 And Kings the forehead on his threshold drew—
 I saw the solitary Ringdove there,
 And "Coo, coo, coo," she cried; and "Coo, coo, coo."

XXI

Ah, my Belovéd, fill the Cup that clears
 To-day of past Regret and Future Fears:
 To-morrow!—Why, To-morrow I may be
 Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n thousand Years.

XXII

For some we loved, the loveliest and the best
 That 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 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?

XXIV

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

XXV

And this delightful Herb whose living 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!

XXVI

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!

XXVII

Alike for those who for To-day prepare,
 And those that after some To-morrow stare,
 A Muezzín from the Tower of Darkness cries,
 "Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There."

XXVIII

Another Voice, when I am sleeping, cries,
 "The Flower should open with the Morning skies."
 And a retreating Whisper, as I wake—
 "The Flower that once has blown for ever dies."

XXIX

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.

XXX

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.

XXXI

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."

XXXII

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.

XXXIII

What, without asking, hither hurried Whence?
 And, without asking, Whither hurried hence!
 Ah! contrite Heav'n endowed us with the Vine
 To drug the memory of that insolence!

XXXIV

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 Master-Knot of Human Fate.

XXXV

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 Thee
 There was—and then no more of Thee and Me.

XXXVI

Earth could not answer: nor the Seas that mourn
 In flowing Purple, of their Lord forlorn;
 Nor Heaven, with those eternal Signs reveal'd
 And hidden by the sleeve of Night and Morn.

XXXVII

Then of the Thee in Me who works behind
 The Veil of Universe I cried to find
 A Lamp to guide me through the Darkness; and
 Something then said—"An Understanding blind."

XXXVIII

Then to the Lip of this poor earthen Urn
 I lean'd, 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."

XXXIX

I think the Vessel, that with fugitive
 Articulation answer'd, once did live,
 And drink; and that impassive Lip I kiss'd,
 How many Kisses might it take—and give!

XL

For I remember stopping by the way
 To watch a Potter thumping his wet Clay:
 And with its all-obliterated Tongue
 It murmur'd—"Gently, Brother, gently, pray!"

XLI

For has not such a Story from of Old
 Down Man's successive generations roll'd
 Of such a clod of saturated Earth
 Cast by the Maker into Human mould?

XLII

And not a drop that from our Cups we throw
 On the parcht herbage but may steal below
 To quench the fire of Anguish in some Eye
 There hidden—far beneath, and long ago.

XLIII

As then the Tulip for her wonted sup
 Of Heavenly Vintage lifts her chalice up,
 Do you, twin offspring of the soil, till Heav'n
 To Earth invert you like an empty Cup.

XLIV

Do you, within your little hour of Grace,
 The waving Cypress in your Arms enlace,
 Before the Mother back into her arms
 Fold, and dissolve you in a last embrace.
Illustration described in QUATRAIN XX p. 90 [Second Edition of the Translation] QUATRAIN XX p. 90
[Second Edition of the Translation]
The Palace that to Heav'n his pillars threw,
 And Kings the forehead on his threshold drew—
 I saw the solitary Ringdove there,
 And "Coo, coo, coo," she cried; and "Coo, coo, coo."
Illustration described in QUATRAIN XLIV p. 102 [Second Edition of the Translation] QUATRAIN XLIV p. 102
[Second Edition of the Translation]
Do you, within your little hour of Grace,
 The waving Cypress in your Arms enlace,
 Before the Mother back into her arms
 Fold, and dissolve you in a last embrace.

XLV

And if the Cup you drink, the Lip you press,
 End in what All begins and ends in—Yes;
 Imagine then you are what heretofore
 You were—hereafter you shall not be less.

XLVI

So when at last the Angel of the drink
 Of Darkness finds you by the river-brink,
 And, proffering his Cup, invites your Soul
 Forth to your Lips to quaff it—do not shrink.

XLVII

And fear not lest Existence closing your
 Account, should lose, or know the type no more;
 The Eternal Sákí from that Bowl has pour'd
 Millions of Bubbles like us, and will pour.

XLVIII

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 much as Ocean of a pebble-cast.

XLIX

One Moment in Annihilation's Waste,
 One Moment, of the Well of Life to taste—
 The Stars are setting, and the Caravan
 Draws to the Dawn of Nothing—Oh, make haste!

L

Would you that spangle of Existence spend
 About THE SECRET—quick about it, Friend!
 A Hair, they say, divides the False and True—
 And upon what, prithee, does Life depend?

LI

A Hair, they say, 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;

LII

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

LIII

A moment guess'd—then back behind the Fold
 Immerst of Darkness round the Drama roll'd
 Which, for the Pastime of Eternity,
 He does Himself contrive, enact, behold.

LIV

But if in vain, down on 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, You when shall be You no more?

LV

Oh, plagued no more With Human or Divine,
 To-morrow's tangle to itself resign,
 And lose your fingers in the tresses of
 The Cypress-slender Minister of Wine.

LVI

Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuit
 Of This and That endeavour and dispute;
 Better be merry with the fruitful Grape
 Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.

LVII

You know, my Friends, how bravely in my House
 For a new Marriage I did make Carouse;
 Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed,
 And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse

LVIII

For "Is" and "Is-not" though with Rule and Line,
 And "Up-and-down" by Logic I define,
 Of all that one should care to fathom, I
 Was never deep in anything but—Wine.

LIX

Ah, but my Computations, People say,
 Have squared the Year to human compass, eh?
 If so, by striking from the Calendar
 Unborn To-morrow, and dead Yesterday.

LX

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

LXI

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

LXII

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

LXIII

Why, be this Juice the growth of God, who dare
 Blaspheme 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?

LXIV

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,
 When the frail Cup is crumbled into Dust!

LXV

If but the Vine and Love-abjuring Band
 Are in the Prophet's Paradise to stand,
 Alack, I doubt the Prophet's Paradise
 Were empty as the hollow of one's Hand.

LXVI

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 is blown for ever dies.

LXVII

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

LXVIII

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

LXIX

Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside,
 And naked on the Air of Heaven ride,
 Is't not a Shame—is't not a Shame for him
 So long in this Clay suburb to abide!

LXX

But that is but a Tent wherein may rest
 A Sultán to the realm of Death addrest;
 The Sultán rises, and the dark Ferrásh
 Strikes, and prepares it for another Guest.

LXXI

I sent my Soul through the Invisible,
 Some letter of that After-life to spell:
 And after many days my Soul return'd
 And said, "Behold, Myself am Heav'n and Hell:"

LXXII

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 emerged from, shall so soon expire.

LXXIII

We are no other than a moving row
 Of visionary Shapes that come and go
 Round with this Sun-illumined Lantern held
 In Midnight by the Master of the Show;

LXXIV

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

LXXV

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!

LXXVI

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.

LXXVII

For let Philosopher and Doctor preach
 Of what they will, and what they will not—each
 Is but one Link in an eternal Chain
 That none can slip, nor break, nor overreach.

LXXVIII

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

LXXIX

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 wrote
 What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.

LXXX

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.

LXXXI

I tell you this—When, started from the Goal,
 Over the flaming shoulders of the Foal
 Of Heav'n Parwín and Mushtarí they flung,
 In my predestined Plot of Dust and Soul

LXXXII

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

LXXXIII

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

LXXXIV

What! out of senseless Nothing to provoke
 A conscious Something to resent the yoke
 Of unpermitted Pleasure, under pain
 Of Everlasting Penalties, if broke!

LXXXV

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

LXXXVI

Nay, but, for terror of his wrathful Face,
 I swear I will not call Injustice Grace;
 Not one Good Fellow of the Tavern but
 Would kick so poor a Coward from the place.

LXXXVII

Oh, Thou, who didst with pitfall and with gin
 Beset the Road I was to wander in,
 Thou wilt not with Predestined Evil round
 Enmesh, and then impute my Fall to Sin!

LXXXVIII

Oh, Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make,
 And ev'n with Paradise devise the Snake:
 For all the Sin the Face of wretched Man
 Is black with—Man's Forgiveness give—and take!

LXXXIX

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

XC

And once again there gathered a scarce heard
 Whisper among them; as it were, the stirr'd
 Ashes of some all but extinguisht Tongue,
 Which mine ear kindled into living Word.

XCI

Said one among them—"Surely not in vain,
 My substance from the common Earth was ta'en,
 That He who subtly wrought me into Shape
 Should stamp me back to shapeless Earth again?"

XCII

Another said—"Why, ne'er a peevish Boy
 Would break the Cup from which he drank in Joy;
 Shall He that of His own free Fancy made
 The Vessel, in an after-rage destroy!"

XCIII

None answer'd this; but after silence spake
 Some Vessel of a more ungainly Make;
 "They sneer at me for leaning all awry;
 What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?"

XCIV

Thus with the Dead as with the Living, What?
 And Why? so ready, but the Wherefor not,
 One on a sudden peevishly exclaim'd,
 "Which is the Potter, pray, and which the Pot?"

XCV

Said one—"Folks of a surly Master tell,
 And daub his Visage with the Smoke of Hell;
 They talk of some sharp Trial of us—Pish!
 He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well."

XCVI

"Well," said another, "Whoso will, let try,
 My Clay with long oblivion is gone dry:
 But fill me with the old familiar Juice,
 Methinks I might recover by-and-by!"

XCVII

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

XCVIII

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

XCIX

Whither resorting from the vernal Heat
 Shall Old Acquaintance Old Acquaintance greet,
 Under the Branch that leans above the Wall
 To shed his Blossom over head and feet.

C

Then ev'n my buried Ashes such a snare
 Of Vintage shall fling up into the Air,
 As not a True-believer passing by
 But shall be overtaken unaware.

CI

Indeed the Idols I have loved so long
 Have 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.

CII

Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before
 I swore—but was I sober when I swore?
 And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand
 My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore.

CIII

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

CIV

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!

CV

Would but the Desert of the Fountain yield
 One glimpse—if dimly, yet indeed reveal'd,
 Toward which the fainting Traveller might spring,
 As springs the trampled herbage of the field!

CVI

Oh, if the World were but to re-create,
 That we might catch ere closed the Book of Fate,
 And make The Writer on a fairer leaf
 Inscribe our names, or quite obliterate!

CVII

Better, oh, better, cancel from the Scroll
 Of Universe one luckless Human Soul,
 Than drop by drop enlarge the Flood that rolls
 Hoarser with Anguish as the Ages Roll.

CVIII

Ah, Love! could you and I with Fate conspire
 To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,
 Would not we shatter it to bits—and then
 Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!
Illustration described in QUATRAIN LXXII p. 116 [Second Edition of the Translation] QUATRAIN LXXII p. 116
[Second Edition of the Translation]
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 emerged from, shall so soon expire.
Illustration described in QUATRAIN XIV p. 145 [Fifth Edition of the Translation] QUATRAIN XIV p. 145
[Fifth Edition of the Translation]
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."

CIX

But see! The rising Moon of Heav'n again—
 Looks for us, Sweet-heart, through the quivering Plane:
 How oft hereafter rising will she look
 Among those leaves—for one of us in vain!

CX

And when Yourself with silver Foot 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!

TAMÁM


RUBÁIYÁT OF OMAR KHAYYÁM

THE FIFTH EDITION
OF THE TRANSLATION


I

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

II

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