The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayam | Page 8

the other hand, as there is far more historical certainty of his being a Philosopher, of scientific Insight and Ability far beyond that of the Age and Country he lived in; of such moderate worldly Ambition as becomes a Philosopher, and such moderate wants as rarely satisfy a Debauchee; other readers may be content to believe with me that, while the Wine Omar celebrates is simply the Juice of the Grape, he bragg'd more than he drank of it, in very defiance perhaps of that Spiritual Wine which left its Votaries sunk in Hypocrisy or Disgust.
Edward J. Fitzgerald
First Edition
I.
Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of Night?Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight:?And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught?The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light.
II.
Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the Sky?I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry,?"Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup?Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry."
III.
And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before?The Tavern shouted--"Open then the Door.?You know how little while we have to stay,?And, once departed, may return no more."
IV.
Now the New Year reviving old Desires,?The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,?Where the WHITE HAND OF MOSES on the Bough?Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.
V.
Iram indeed is gone with all its Rose,?And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;?But still the Vine her ancient Ruby yields,?And still a Garden by the Water blows.
VI.
And David's Lips are lock't; but in divine?High piping Pelevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!?Red Wine!"--the Nightingale cries to the Rose?That yellow Cheek of hers to'incarnadine.
VII.
Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring?The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:?The Bird of Time has but a little way?To fly--and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.
VIII.
And look--a thousand Blossoms with the Day?Woke--and a thousand scatter'd into Clay:?And this first Summer Month that brings the Rose?Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.
IX.
But come with old Khayyam, and leave the Lot?Of Kaikobad and Kaikhosru forgot:?Let Rustum lay about him as he will,?Or Hatim Tai cry Supper--heed them not.
X.
With me along some Strip of Herbage strown?That just divides the desert from the sown,?Where name of Slave and Sultan scarce is known,?And pity Sultan Mahmud on his Throne.
XI.
Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,?A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse--and Thou?Beside me singing in the Wilderness--?And Wilderness is Paradise enow.
XII.
"How sweet is mortal Sovranty!"--think some:?Others--"How blest the Paradise to come!"?Ah, take the Cash in hand and waive the Rest;?Oh, the brave Music of a distant Drum!
XIII.
Look to the Rose that blows 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."
XIV.
The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon?Turns Ashes--or it prospers; and anon,?Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face?Lighting a little Hour or two--is gone.
XV.
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'd?As, buried once, Men want dug up again.
XVI.
Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai?Whose Doorways are alternate Night and Day,?How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp?Abode his Hour or two, and went his way.
XVII.
They say the Lion and the Lizard keep?The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep:?And Bahram, that great Hunter--the Wild Ass?Stamps o'er his Head, and he lies fast asleep.
XVIII.
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 FearsTo?-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