The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayam | Page 9

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 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!
Another and another Cup to drown
The Memory of this Impertinence!
XXXI.
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.
XXXII.
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.
XXXIII.
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.
XXXIV.
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."
XXXV.
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.
XXXVI.
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!"
XXXVII.
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!
XXXVIII.
One Moment in Annihilation's Waste,
One moment, of the Well of Life to taste--
The
Stars are setting, and the Caravan
Starts for the dawn of Nothing--Oh, make haste!

XXXIX.
How long, how long, in infinite Pursuit
Of This and That endeavour and dispute?

Better be merry with the fruitful Grape
Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.
XL.
You know, my Friends, how long since 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.
XLI.
For "IS" and "IS-NOT" though with Rule and Line,
And, "UP-AND-DOWN" without, I
could define,
I yet in all I only cared to know,
Was never deep in anything but--Wine.
XLII.
And lately, by the Tavern Door agape,
Came stealing through the Dusk an Angel Shape,

Bearing a vessel on his Shoulder; and
He bid me taste of it; and 'twas--the Grape!
XLIII.
The Grape that can with Logic absolute
The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute:

The subtle Alchemist that in a Trice
Life's leaden Metal into Gold transmute.
XLIV.
The mighty Mahmud, the victorious Lord,
That all the misbelieving and black Horde

Of Fears and Sorrows that infest the Soul
Scatters and slays with his enchanted Sword.
XLV.
But leave the Wise to wrangle, and with me
The Quarrel of the Universe let be:
And,
in some corner of the Hubbub coucht,
Make Game of that which makes as much of
Thee.
XLVI.
For in and out, above, about, below,
'Tis nothing but a Magic Shadow-show,
Play'd in
a Box whose Candle is the Sun,
Round which we Phantom Figures come and go.
XLVII.
And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press,
End in the Nothing all Things end
in--YesThen
fancy while Thou art, Thou art but what
Thou shalt be--Nothing--Thou

shalt not be less.
XLVIII.
While the Rose blows along the River Brink,
With old Khayyam the Ruby Vintage
drink:
And when the Angel with his darker Draught
Draws up to thee--take that, and
do not shrink.
XLVIX.
'Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days
Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays:

Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays,
And one by one back in the Closet
lays.
L.
The Ball no Question makes of Ayes and Noes,
But Right or Left as strikes the Player
goes;
And He