Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam
Comparison of Versions
by
Edward FitzGerald  1858
Edward Whinfield  1883
Arthur Talbot  1908
Richard Brodie  2001

While Whinfield and Talbot do not exhibit the same consistent, memorable sublimity of expression as does FitzGerald,
they can serve to illuminate the latter's monumental achievement of sifting and sorting through the hodgepodge
that is the original Persian collection, consisting not only of Khayyam's verse, but of subsequent poets as well,
selectively extracting and recombining from this diverse assortment, a beautifully coherent and naturally flowing creation.

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FitzGerald
Whinfield
Talbot
Brodie
(completed Sept. 7, 2001)
1
 233
 
 1
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 Sultán's Turret in a Noose of Light.
The sun doth smite the roofs with Orient ray 
And, Khosrau like, his wine-red sheen display; 
Arise, and drink! the herald of the dawn 
Uplifts his voice, and cries, "Oh, drink to-day!" 
 
Apollo hefts that Gauntlet high to throw --
That Artemis affronting Gesture's Sight 
Thrusts out anon her Tent of Black, and Oh!
The Sun effulgent shines on, Halo White!
2
 1, 136, 200, 233
 
 2
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."
At dawn a cry through all the tavern shrilled, 
"Arise, my brethren of the revelers' guild, 
That I may fill our measure full of wine, 
Or e'er the measure of our days be filled." 

Life's caravan is hastening on its way; 
Brood not on troubles of the coming day, 
But fill the wine-cup ere sweet night be gone, 
And snatch a pleasant moment, while you may. 

When false dawn streaks the east with cold, gray line, Pour in your cups the pure blood of the vine; 
The truth, they say, tastes bitter in the mouth, 
This is a token that the "Truth " is wine.

The sun doth smite the roofs with Orient ray 
And, Khosrau like, his wine-red sheen display; 
Arise, and drink! the herald of the dawn 
Uplifts his voice, and cries, "Oh, drink to-day!" 

 
In silent Morn, the Lawn still wet with Dew,
The friendly Owner of the Pub said: "Drink!
Ah, come! A lusty Bacchic Vial quaff,
Ere ye despair, and in the Grave ye sink."
3
 81, 258, 295
 
 3
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."
The Bulbul to the garden winged his way, 
Viewed lily cups, and roses smiling gay, 
Cried in ecstatic notes, "O live your life, 
You never will relive this fleeting day. " 

Whoe'er returned of all that went before, 
To tell of that long road they travel o'er? 
Leave naught undone of what you have to do, 
For when you go, you will return no more. 

See! the dawn breaks, and rends night's canopy: 
Arise! and drain a morning draught with me! 
Away with gloom! full many a dawn will break 
Looking for us, and we not here to see!

 
Oh Rooster! when it crowed we Men who drink
Turned to the Pub: "Oh welcome! No Delay!
Old Throats crave Oceans of Nepenthe sweet -
A Vodka on the House? thy Treat today!"
4
 116, 201
 13, 80
 4
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.
Now spring-tide showers its foison on the land, 
And lively hearts wend forth, a joyous band, 
For 'Isa's breath wakes the dead earth to life, 
And trees gleam white with flowers, like Musa's hand.

Now is the time earth decks her greenest bowers, And trees, like Musa's hand, grow white with flowers! 
As 'twere at 'Isa's breath the plants revive, 
While clouds brim o'er, like tearful eyes, with showers.

The world sighs out for Happiness, and saith
"The very desert liveth: where is Death?"
The hand of Moses blooms on many a bough,
And every breeze is sweet with Jesus' breath.

The sweet Spring-breezes now the world adorn,
In hope of rain its eyes salute the morn;
The hands of Moses whiten many a spray,
The breath of Jesus moves the thrusting corn.

Oh how Youth do perpetuate Life's Germ
If Winter's ghoulish Loneliness adjourns;
The Future? those hued Trees do show us It!
O God's green Thumb the View so verdant turns.
5
 
 
 5
 Iram indeed is gone with all his Rose, 
And Jamshýd'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.
 
 
That Sultan's Star, now in, it vanishes!
Oh, to his Kingdom we will bid "Good-bye!"
But ne'er shall "Wet Springs" Ranch Land ended be;
Nay! Wine's red, merry Juice shall never die!
6
 119
 
 6
And David's Lips are lock't; but in divine 
High piping Pehlevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!
"Red Wine!"--the Nightingale cries to the Rose 
That yellow Cheek of her's to'incarnadine.
Drink wine! and then as Mahmud thou wilt reign, 
And hear a music passing David's strain: 
Think not of past or future, seize to-day, 
Then all thy life will not be lived in vain.
 
With heavenly Voice, O Noise inspired, we chant 
"This Red Ale! Drink it up!", elated singing. 
Ah, Finch, to a white Violet chirp "Pink!" 
O see it redden! -- warble then, while winging.
7
 59, 212, 425
 16
 7
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.
My law it is in pleasure's paths to stray, 
My creed to shun the theologic fray; 
I wedded Luck, and offered her a dower, 
She said, "I want none, so thy heart be gay." 

Ah! thou hast snared this head, though white as snow, Which oft has vowed the wine-cup to forego; 
And wrecked the mansion long resolve did build, 
And rent the vesture penitence did sew!

Each morn I say, "To-night I will repent 
Of wine, and tavern-haunts no more frequent "; 
But while 'tis spring, and roses are in bloom, 
To loose me from my promise, O consent!

But bring me Wine; for words I do not care;
I have thy lips, and all my Heav'n is there;
Bring wine to match thy cheeks; my penitence
Is full of tangles as thy clust'ring hair.
I'd beg a Sip, if it be April Grape,
Romancing Life before its Thrill doth melt.
Youth in the Wind can flutter off,  O then 
No new Enchantment with dry Age's felt.
8
 134
 47
 8
Whether at Naishapur 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.
When life is spent, what's Balkh or Nishapore? 
What sweet or bitter, when the cup runs o'er? 
Come drink! full many a moon will wax and wane 
In times to come, when we are here no more.
Who cares for Balkh or Baghdad? Life is fleet;
And what though bitter be the cup, or sweet,
So it be full? This moon, when we are gone,
The circling months will day by day repeat.
If  People one safe happy Zenith know,
Or trapped by Hell with Woe in Terror be;
Ah, the bubbly River of our fleeting Weeks 
Doth flow unceasing there into the Sea.
9
 
 
 9
Morning a thousand Roses brings, you say; 
Yes, but where leaves the Rose of yesterday? 
And this first Summer month that brings the Rose 
Shall take Jamshýd and Kaikobád away.
 
 
This Dawn Sky's heating Rays rejuvenate
Those Herbs of May; but Oh, I am dismayed 
At last Year's shrunken Buds - the transient Dross.
Oh mark how Mortals' bygone Glories fade.
10
 455
 
 10
But come with old Khayyám, and leave the Lot 
Of Kaikobád and Kaikhosrú forgot! 
Let Rustum cry "To Battle!" as he likes, 
Or Hátim Tai cry Supper--heed them not.
Whilst thou dost wear this fleshy livery, 
Step not beyond the bounds of destiny; 
Bear up, though very Rustems be thy foes, 
And crave no boon from friends like Hatim Tai!
 
Ah, amble by me, busy Fuss forsake;
Avoid all Company with Duke or Sheikh.
Attack to kill, delight to maim? Oh Truce!
Don't hurt. Or eye the Treat?--do not partake!
11
 
 151
 11
With me along the strip of Herbage strown 
That just divides the desert from the sown, 
Where name of Slave and Sultán is forgot -- 
And pity Máhmúd on his golden Throne!
 
Where'er on earth my wand'ring gaze I place,
A garden lav'd by Kausar's stream I trace;
Heaven in the desert, Hell hath disappear'd,
And Paradise is in her Angel face.
The Dream! out under hanging Palms a-bloom,
With she who jests and savors this short Life --
Envied of Men of Power, Glory-men,
Hunted with Danger that attends to Strife.
12
79, 84, 452, 479
 25, 40, 149, 155
 12
A Book of Verses underneath the Bough, 
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread, -- and Thou 
Beside me singing in the Wilderness -- 
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!
Some wine, a Houri (Houris if there be), 
A green bank by a stream, with minstrelsy;--- 
Toil not to find a better Paradise 
If other Paradise indeed there be!

In the sweet spring a grassy bank I sought, 
And thither wine, and a fair Houri brought; 
And, though the people called me graceless dog, 
Gave not to Paradise another thought!

Give me a skin of wine, a crust of bread, 
A pittance bare, a book of verse to read; 
With thee, O love, to share my lowly roof, 
I would not take the Sultan's realm instead!

So long as I possess two maunds of wine, 
Bread of the flower of wheat, and mutton chine, 
And you, O Tulip cheek, to share my hut, 
Not every Sultan's lot can vie with mine. 

If in the Spring, she whom I love so well
Meet me by some green bank - the truth I tell -
Bringing my thirsty soul a cup of wine,
I want no better Heaven, nor fear a Hell.

Whether my destin'd fate shall be to dwell
Midst Heaven's joys or in the fires of Hell
I know not; here with Spring, and bread, and wine,
And thee, my love, my heart says "All is well."

Give me a scroll of verse, a little wine, 
With half a loaf to fill thy needs and mine,
And with the desert sand our resting place,
For ne'er a Sultan's kingdom would we pine.

Let Fortune but provide me bread of wheat,
A gourd of wine a bone of mutton sweet,
Then in the desert if we twain might sit,
Joys such as ours no Sultan could defeat.

A Poem, and Trees a-blowing in a Wind.
A Brew I'll drink -- base Needs of other Stuff
Ignore. Ah see here how we do behave;
Indeed for us a Song is just enough.
13
 94, 108
 34, 42
 13
Some for the Glories of This World; and some 
Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come; 
Ah, take the Cash, and let the Promise go, 
Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!
Did He who made me fashion me for hell, 
Or destine me for heaven? I can not tell. 
Yet will I not renounce cup, lute, and love, 
Nor earthly cash for heavenly credit sell.

They preach how sweet those Houri brides will be, 
But I say wine is sweeter---taste and see! 
Hold fast this cash, and let that credit go, 
And shun the din of empty drums like me.

Men talk of Eden's Houris and their charms;
To maids of Earth I drink and sing my psalms.
Hold fast Life's cash; if Time be in thy debt
How pleasant is the distant call to arms!

If in thy heart the seed of Love is plac'd,
No day of all thy life can run to waste;
Whether for God's approval thou dost strive,
Or on the joys of Earth hast set thy taste.

Doth Man chase Comforts, Gold, and high Regard?
Or seeks he out Priest, Minister, the Pope?
Ah Lord, I'd taste the best of Human Life;
O let me shed a far Tomorrow's Hope.
14
 411
 36, 136
 14
Were it not Folly, Spider-like to spin 
The Thread of present Life away to win -- 
What? for ourselves, who know not if we shall 
Breathe out the very Breath we now breathe in!
Shall I still sigh for what I have not got, 
Or try with cheerfulness to bear my lot? 
Fill up my cup! I know not if the breath 
I now am drawing is my last, or not!
Drink Wine: for here, and now, Eternal Life
Gives all the gain that Youth may win from Strife;
Roses and friends to share thy merriment:
Seize now that Joy with which to-day is rife!

How long shall I, or poor or wealthy, grieve?
How long, or sad or merry, shall i live?
Fill up the bowl! this very breath I draw,
The winds may ne'er from me again receive.

If we're intent to Hope for heavenly Bliss,
Oh, Profit in the Earth away we throw --
Better we briefly taste Love's Pleasure, for
What Hour we'll sink in Death we do not know!
15
 298, 352
 
 15
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."
With maids stately as cypresses, and fair 
As roses newly plucked, your wine-cups share, 
Or e'er Death's blasts shall rend your robe of flesh 
Like yonder rose-leaves, lying scattered there!

Quoth rose, "I am the Yusuf flower, I swear, 
For in my mouth rich golden gems I bear ": 
I said, "Show me another proof." Quoth she, 
"Behold this blood-stained vesture that I wear! "

 
A Title Hope in Earth, oh Ego? No!
Lo, Nature's short Blooms show us What? We learn
To say "Good-bye."--all Assets in the World,
Like Nature's Gifts, back to the Dust return.
16
 
 48
 16
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.
 
For, those who from the date its vintage take,
And they who all night long devotions make,
All are submerg'd, not one remains on Earth,
All are asleep: One only is awake.
The Riches People think will last so long
Go sour -- or persist and Worth retain; 
See Dew upon the Grass out in the Sun --
So Fortune spent doth hardly yet remain.
17
 175
 68
 17
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.
Ere you succumb to shocks of mortal pain, 
The rosy grape-juice from your wine-cup drain. 
You are not gold, that, hidden in the earth, 
Your friends should care to dig you up again!
E'er thou art striken down by Fate above,
Drink wine, the rosy wine that speaks of Love!
Thy body hath no value; from the grave
No man will dig thee up for treasure trove!
Lo, when a Niggard audits Banks, and when
An anguished Teen at Sin a Fortune throws,
Ah Both, I'd augur, rate an untouched Death:
Like Dung, to Ore will Neither decompose.
18
 70
 
 18
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.
What is the world? A caravanserai, 
A pied pavilion of night and day; 
A feast whereat a thousand Jamshids sat, 
A couch whereon a thousand Bahrams lay.
 
Oh in our weary Habitation, Earth,
Eternal Windows framed by Dusk and Dawn,
A Pharaoh's Star view  - watch it shatter, Heir,
Washed up, not long to stay in this Salon.
19
 72, 465
 
 19
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.
Here in this palace, where Bahram held sway, 
The wild roes drop their young, and tigers stray; 
And that great hunter king---ah! well-a-day! 
Now to the hunter death is fallen a prey.

Though you should sit in sage Aristo's room, 
Or rival Caesar on his throne of Rum, 
Drain Jemshid's goblet, for your end's the tomb, 
Yea, were you Bahram's self, your end's the tomb! 

 
Majestic Shahs at grand Persepolis,
By proud Beast Herds attended at their Peak;
Mark what great Monarchs doze, all hushed by Death;
Ruined, in Hell, down in the Earth they sneak.
20
 277, 392
 
 20
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."
I saw a bird perched on the walls of Tus, 
Before him lay the skull of Kai Kawus, 
And thus he made his moan, "Alas, poor king!
Thy drums are hushed, thy 'larums have rung truce." 

Yon palace, towering to the welkin blue, 
Where kings did bow them down, and homage do, 
I saw a ringdove on its arches perched, 
And thus she made complaint, "Coo, Coo, Coo, Coo!"

 
Oh Castle high, on whose heraldic Door
Do these, the Royals of late honored Lines, 
The Visage paint -- see that a Dove doth chirp,
A Cock doth crow, a Crow on Carrion dines.
21
 104
 43
 21
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.
Where'er you see a rose or tulip bed, 
Know that a mighty monarch's blood was shed 
And where the violet rears her purple tuft, 
Be sure a black-moled girl hath laid her head.
Where'er the Rose or Tulip scents the air,
The life-blood of a King has ebb'd forth there;
And every Violet that decks the Earth
Was once a mole upon a cheek so fair.
It seems, when in a shaded silent Park,
That every Blossom, every Chaplet's Bud,
Grows rather more attractive to Man's Eye 
On Soil enriched here with famed Heroes' Blood.
22
 62, 33, 396
 25, 147
 22
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!
Yon turf, fringing the margent of the stream, 
As down upon a cherub's lip might seem, 
Or growth from dust of buried tulip cheeks; 
Tread not that turf with scorn, or light esteem!

Days changed to nights, ere you were born, or I, 
And on its business ever rolled the sky; 
See you tread gently on this dust-perchance 
'Twas once the apple of some beauty's eye. 

"Take up thy cup and goblet, Love, " I said, 
"Haunt purling river bank, and grassy glade; 
Full many a moon-like form has heaven's wheel 
Oft into cup, oft into goblet, made!"

If in the Spring, she whom I love so well
Meet me by some green bank - the truth I tell -
Bringing my thirsty soul a cup of wine,
I want no better Heaven, nor fear a Hell.

O Heart's Desire! from cup and flask seek aid;
Be merry midst the river's flowery glade;
Malicious Heav'n of many joyous folk
A hundred times hath cups and flagons made.

Ah, kneel in high Respect when at the Springs;
Honor when viewing Flowers in the Dell;
Lo from one vanished fine Soul far below 
This pretty, sightly Garden could upwell.
23
 312
 
 23
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.
O let us not forecast to-morrow's fears, 
But count to-day as gain, my brave compeers! To-morrow we shall quit this inn, and march 
With comrades who have marched seven thousand years.
 
My Friend, salute my happy Serum sweet
That Care aborts and Worry holds at bay.
Give me TODAY! O Why? Life's over fast - 
Fed to the Worms, our Flesh returns to Clay.
24
 219
 84
 24
Lo! some we loved, the loveliest and 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.
My comrades are all gone; Death, deadly foe, 
Has caught them one by one, and trampled low; 
They shared life's feast, and drank its wine with me, 
But lost their heads, and dropped a while ago.
Friends, when ye keep a tryst, and meet your host,
And merrymake with those ye love the most,
When the Mugh Wine the cupbearer takes round,
Drink to a certain Helpless One a toast!
Those I've adored that born to freedom's Hope,
Know not a Course but "Carpe Diem!", They've
Life's Bottle tasted fervently till All
Turn in to sleep, and now are in the Grave.
25
 73, 162, 391
 
 25
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?
Down fall the tears from skies enwrapt in gloom,
Without this drink, the flowers could never bloom! 
As now these flowerets yield delight to me, 
So shall my dust yield flowers---God knows for whom. 

Take heart! Long in the weary tomb you'll lie, 
While stars keep countless watches in the sky, 
And see your ashes molded into bricks, 
To build another's house and turrets high. 

When life has Bed, and we rest in the tomb, 
They'll place a pair of bricks to mark our tomb; 
And, a while after, mold our dust to bricks, 
To furnish forth some other person's tomb!

 
Ah with much Fondness we remember now
Those lovely Folks tucked far below, esteemed;
And then Tomorrow, Autumn, our Turn comes - 
A Vacancy, eh? Time so short here has seemed!
26
 341
 52
 26
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!
With fancies, as with wine, our heads we turn, 
Aspire to heaven, and earth's low trammels spurn; 
But, when we drop this fleshly clog, 'tis seen 
From dust we came, and back to dust return.
To Love's effacement this our life we trust,
And into Fate's strong talons we are thrust;
Then rouse thyself, O sweet-faced Cupbearer,
Bring me a draught, for long shall I be dust!
We'd best attempt to get Enchantment's Kiss,
As handed us in the due Season rife.
O Why? ye mute down under Dirt do go,
To end sans Sound, sans Wants, and so -- sans Life!
27
 376
 
 27
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!"
Some look for truth in creeds, and forms, and rules; Some grope for doubts or dogmas in the schools; 
But from behind the veil a voice proclaims, 
"Your road lies neither here nor there, O fools. "
 
Oh Those that worry of that Time far off,
Or worry now and hoard for One that's near,
Do Errors sore make, and must Elsewhere look 
To seize their secret Prize supreme, I fear.
28
 151, 190
 
 28
Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd 
Of the Two Worlds so learnedly, are thrust 
Like foolish Prophets forth; their Works to Scorn 
Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.
The sages who have compassed sea and land, 
Their secret to search out, and understand--- 
My mind misgives me if they ever solve 
The scheme on which this universe is planned.

What sage the eternal tangle e'er unraveled, 
Or one short step beyond his nature traveled? 
From pupils to the masters turn your eyes, 
And see, each mother's son alike is graveled. 

 
So, Wisdom of those worldly Thinker's Words, 
Truths sacrosanct, propounded Thoughts, that fade
Like worthless Errors, that we trust, they wane; 
False Scholarship to rest in Death is laid.
29
264 
 50, 121
 29
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.
I flew here, as a bird from the wild, in aim 
Up to a higher nest my course to frame; 
But, finding here no guide who knows the way, 
Fly out by the same door where through I came.
The Slaves of Intellect in talk persist;
Die, arguing does this or that exist;
Fools eat dry raisins 'til their souls become
Sour grapes; but wise men on New Wine insist.

A teacher once we sought, when young, to find
Wisdom that for a while contents the mind;
And from the whole discourse what did we learn? -
We come like water and depart like wind.

Mentored by Guru and Rabbi devout,
Who many a Quandry fought, Men at debate;
Reason oft circularly seen, it seemed
That I was doomed to an e'er turning Gate.
30
31, 133, 142, 353, 448
 20, 121
 30
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."
'Tis but a day we sojourn here below, 
And all the gain we get is grief and woe,
Then, leaving our life's riddles all unsolved, 
And burdened with regrets, we have to go. 

See! from the world what profit have I gained? 
What fruitage of my life in hand retained? 
What use is Jamshid's goblet, once 'tis crushed? 
What pleasure's torch, when once its light has waned?

Whilom, ere youth's conceit had waned, methought 
Answers to all life's problems I had wrought; 
But now, grown old and wise, too late I see 
My life is spent, and all my lore is naught. 

I studied with the masters long ago, 
And long ago did master all they know; 
Here now the end and issue of it all, 
From earth I came, and like the wind I go!

Audit yourself, your truce account to frame, 
See! you go empty, as you empty came; 
You say, "I will not drink and peril life," 
But, drink or no, you must die all the same! 

Like Wind or Water, passing on its way,
Out of my life goes yet another day.
Two days there are that never trouble me -
One has not come, the other could not stay.

A teacher once we sought, when young, to find
Wisdom that for a while contents the mind;
And from the whole discourse what did we learn? -
We come like water and depart like wind.

Ah, Knowledge! Education's widen'd Base,
I vow'd to add while wandering mid Earth.
The Pity is I'm mortal, fed to Worms;
I think ahead: "All this! What was it worth?"
31
 26, 223, 403
 20, 26
 31
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.
My life lasts but a day or two, and fast 
Sweeps by, like torrent stream or desert blast, 
Howbeit, of two days I take no heed--- 
The day to come, and that already past. 

Not-being's water served to mix my clay, 
And on my heart grief's fire doth ever prey, 
And blown am I like wind about the world, 
And last my crumbling earth is swept away.

Let not base avarice enslave thy mind, 
Nor vain ambition in its trammels bind; 
Be sharp as fire, as running water swift, 
Not, like earth's dust, the sport of every wind!

Like Wind or Water, passing on its way,
Out of my life goes yet another day.
Two days there are that never trouble me -
One has not come, the other could not stay.

Know this, that soon thou diest, and thy soul
The Book of God's Great Secret must unroll;
Be happy! knowing not whence thou hast come,
Nor whither thou shalt go. Drink out the Bowl!

In Life will thy End be not Unknown Deeds?
Will ye Ovation glowing want to win
When ye on Wings will flirt anon with Stars?
Oh I think ye will walk, to your Chagrin!
32
 
 21
 32
What, without asking, hither hurried whence? 
And, without asking, whither hurried hence! 
Another and another Cup to drown 
The Memory of this Impertinence!
 
I was not asked to choose my natal morn,
I die as helplessly as I was born.
Bring wine, and I will strive to wash away
The recollection of Creation's scorn.
Oh to and fro with urgent Whim we trek;
Hike here and there in mad chaotic Rush.
O earn unhappy Torment in this Earth?
To end, with Wine our hectic Grind we hush.
33
 303
 107, 111
 33
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.
I solved all problems, down from Saturn's wreath 
Unto this lowly sphere of earth beneath, 
And leapt out free from bonds of fraud and lies, 
Yea, every knot was loosed, save that of death!
Where doth the past begin, the future end?
Rejoice to-day, Wine is thy only friend!
Nor theory nor practice is of use,
But Wine unties each knot that Fate may send.

How long shall we be slaves, untying knots?
Who cares if Fate long life, or short, allots?
Pour out a cup of wine, before we all
Become, within the workshop, earthen pots.

Ah, by the Theban Rampart strong I sought
To understand the tyrant Stars of Men;
Ah Fortune, Heaven-sent, thou art not free;
The Luck, then Doom, of Man evades our Ken.
34
 47, 389
 29
 34
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.
All mortal ken is bounded by the veil, 
To see beyond man's sight is all too frail; 
Yea! earth's dark bosom is his only home:--- 
Alas! 'twere long to tell the doleful tale. 

Nor you nor I can read the etern decree, 
To that enigma we can find no key; 
They talk of you and me behtnd the veil, 
But, if that veil be lifted, where are we?

Behind the veil the Gods their Secrets keep,
And past that curtain none may hope to peep;
One plot of earth is all we may secure.
Drink, then! for such philosophies are cheap.
I mark the Sheet that hindered Light and View:
O too, the Way whose Lock would not release.
Do we Men find Thee, Home of human Truth?
O if not, O then here the Search will cease.
35
 
 28, 30
 35
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.
 
Then inspiration from on High I sought,
Asking that Knowledge might to me be brought;
But presently my heart said,"Pray no more!
The power of Prayer is all, the Prayer is naught!"

The Gods in mortal man do not confide,
And Fate from fools her mysteries doth hide;
Be thou but just towards thy fellow man,
All hope or fear thou mayest put aside.

I'd Seek a Lord transcendent that all Things
Can plan -- He'd end intending Virtue bright?
"If all Men grovel badly in rude Sin,
Wilt Thou, kind-hearted, help?"  He said, "I might!"
36
 
 
 36
Earth could not answer; nor the Seas that mourn
In flowing Purple, of their Lord forlorn; 
Nor Heav'n, with those eternal Signs reveal'd 
And hidden by the sleeve of Night and Morn.
 
 
Our World hath loathed Reply; and Neptune's Froth
Hath grown bereft of Strength here, Master gone. 
Oh covered Realm divine? No, fallen still!
Nor Vision had in Sunset, nor in Dawn.
37
 20, 274
 72, 100
 37
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."
To-day is but a breathing space, quaff wine! 
Thou wilt not see again this life of thine; 
So, as the world becomes the spoil of time, 
Offer thyself to be the spoil of wine! 

I put my lips to the cup, for I did yearn 
The hidden cause of length of days to learn; 
He leaned his lip to mine, and whispered low,
"Drink! for, once gone, you never will return. "

The tangled secrets of Eternity
Remain unsolv'd; and Time and Space are free
From Man's control; both ignorant and wise
Stand impotent before Infinity.

To the jar's mouth my eager lip I press'd,
For Life's Elixir making anxious quest;
It join'd its lip to mine, and whisper'd low -
"Drink wine: thou shalt not wake from thy last rest!"

An Honor fell to me, for my true Friend 
The Cup I took: Help, sound Advice distilled:
"I'll warn you errant People: Fate turns - Lo,
An Hurt? Oh revel there in Wine." I thrilled!
38
 32
 9, 39
 38
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!
This jug did once, like me, love's sorrows taste, 
And bonds of beauty's tresses once embraced, 
This handle, which you see upon its side, 
Has many a time twined round a slender waist! 
This jug, o'er which I pledge my love to-day,
Was once a lover too, now sad, now gay;
The handle that thou seest upon its neck
Once round another's neck in friendship lay.

Wine is a melted ruby, and the cup
The mine from which we mortals dig it up;
The cup the body, and the wine the soul:
How many tears lie hidden where we sup?

As with the talkative Container I
Did flirt, and to me wise Advice he gave,
I trust, my Man, he did his lewd Kicks get -
O is it darling silken Nymphs? Thou Knave!
39
 252, 493
 66, 89
 39
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!"
I saw a busy potter by the way 
Kneading with might and main a lump of clay; 
And, lo! the clay cried, "Use me gently, pray; 
I was a man myself but yesterday!"

A potter at his work I chanced to see, 
Pounding some earth and shreds of pottery; 
I looked with eyes of insight, and methought 
'Twas Adam's dust with which he made so free!

I was, upon the terrace, one who trod
In blind contempt upon the beaten sod.
The bruisèd clay in mystic language spake -
"Thou, too, shalt some day feel the Foot of God!"

In the Bazaar I saw, but yesterday,
A potter rudely pounding the fresh clay;
The clay in mystic language made complaint -
"I too was once like thee: thy hand then stay!" 

The Master, real skill'd at working Dirt,
That Pile of Putty threw - a-yelling by,
It whimpered in an Accent crude: "Oh me!
Don't batter me that rough; pound softly, Guy."
40
 221
 
 40
And 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?
When the great Founder molded me of old, 
He mixed much baser metal with my gold; 
Better or fairer I can never be 
Than I first issued from his heavenly mold.
 
As in Accounts of how God models Dirt,
As Man He sketches, crafted out of Clay,
So can an Urn savant, Lord Mr. Mud,
Out of mute Sand his "Hello Brother" say.
41
 112, 278, 386
 12, 17, 126
 41
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!
Sweet is the breath of Spring to rose's face, 
And thy sweet face adds charm to this fair place; 
To-day is sweet, but yesterday is sad, 
And sad all mention of its parted grace. 

Ask not the chances of the time to be, 
And for the past, 'tis vanished, as you see; 
This ready-money breath set down as gain, 
Future and past concern not you or me. 

Behold the tricks this wheeling dome doth play, 
And earth laid bare of old friends torn away! 
O live this present moment, which is thine, 
Seek not a morrow, mourn not yesterday!

Tomorrow is beyond To-day's command,
And Sorrow lords it o'er the future land;
Thine hour is Now! Fix not thine eyes afar,
Missing the Glory ready to thy hand!

The breath of Spring is sweet unto the Rose,
The lov'd one's face in the dark garden grows;
Speak not of Yesterday, - I know it not, -
To-day is all thy wooing lover knows.

Behold the evils Heav'n doth here display,
The world bereft of friends that pass away;
Gain for thyself a moment's happiness,
Nor Past nor Future seek, - behold To-day!

Imbibe! O worry not that Life's Hope drifts; 
The Day gone by, the Future not yet here: 
Do tenuous NOW remember, not a Fad -
What's up-to-date, watch: it will disappear!
42
 
 81
 42
And not a drop that from our Cups we throw
For Earth to drink of, but may steal below
To quench the fire of Anguish in some Eye
There hidden--far beneath, and long ago.
Lo! every drop the cupbearer shall spill,
The fire of anguish in some eye may still;
Praise be to God! Thou knowest that in Wine
Is that which frees thy heart from every ill.
Liquor beneath the Ground undo hot Pain! 
Offer thy Honey as a Sea of Balm.
Soothe the deep Torment and wash off dark Woe, 
A tortured Wretch in burning Grief to calm.
43
 44
 82, 83
 43
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.
Like tulips in the Spring your cups lift up, 
And, with a tulip-cheeked companion, sup
With joy your wine, or e'er this azure wheel 
With some unlooked-for blast upset your cup.
Each morn the dew begems the tulip's face,
The violet's bended crest is full of grace;
But, fairest of them all, the rosebud sweet,
With modest blush her skirt doth closely lace.

Friends, when ye meet together, ne'er forget;
The one, whom o'er the cup ye oft have met;
And, when ye drink a draught of wholesome wine,
At my turn, upside down a goblet set!

Ah, see the purple Violet catch the Drops
Of Life reviving Nutrient divine!
Supply thy Soul, thou Progeny of Clay,
With Lakes of Ale, then, from that Fountain, Wine.
44
 237
 76
 44
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.
Many have come, and run their eager race, 
Striving for pleasures, luxuries, or place, 
And quaffed their wine, and now all silent lie, 
Enfolded in their parent earth's embrace.
Let not the Veil of Sorrow shroud thy face,
Nor in thy life let idle grief find place;
But feast on books, and love, and Nature's joys,
Ere Earth enfold thee in her last embrace.
Ere you by Charon to a frigid Realm 
Of Death are ferried by his Ark, thy Chance
Lose not to revel in Love's sumptuous Glow,
Warm Sensibility and Touch -- Romance!
45
 424
 60
 45
A Moment's Halt -- a momentary taste 
Of Being from the Well amid the Waste -- 
And Lo! the phantom Caravan has reach'd 
The Nothing it set out from -- Oh, make haste!
O unenlightened race of humankind, 
Ye are a nothing, built on empty wind! 
Yea, a mere nothing, hovering in the abyss, 
A void before you, and a void behind!
Life's caravan mysteriously goes by;
Seize Happiness, while yet the moments fly!
Do not, Cupbearer, for tomorrow grieve,
Bring Wine to-night, e'er Dawn lights up the sky!
Lament the Saga of a human Fate,
The Months of Man's short, vain, and mortal Path
That to the desert Origin comes back:
We eye him all worm-eaten  - do the Math!
46
 241, 304, 453
 79, 131
 46
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.
Why ponder thus the future to foresee, 
And jade thy brain to vain perplexity? 
Cast off thy care, leave Allah's plans to him ---
He formed them all without consulting thee. 

Peace! the eternal "Has been" and "To be" 
Pass man's experience, and man's theory; 
In joyful seasons naught can vie with wine, 
To all these riddles wine supplies the key! 

Reason not of the five, nor of the four, 
Be their dark problems one, or many score; 
We are but earth---Go, minstrel, bring the lute! 
We are but air---Bring wine; I ask no more! 

Drink Wine, for thou shalt be resolv'd in Earth,
And, as a goblet, shalt find second birth;
Heedless be thou of Heav'n and Hell alike;
Be not deceiv'd! Hold fast to Wine and Mirth!

Flee from all study, and thy fingers twine
In those soft curls of her thou callest thine;
Ere Fate shall spill thy blood, hasten to pour
Into the cup the red blood of the vine.

To worry of Men's Pedigrees? Do not! 
Or of their Righteousness, their Sins mundane.
I'll fete the Women in Seraglios,
Let's drown in lusty Rivers of Champagne.
47
 86, 158, 183
 50, 117
 47
Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuit 
Of This and That endeavor and dispute; 
Better be merry with the fruitful Grape 
Than sadden after none, or bitter, fruit.
Life, void of wine, and minstrels with their lutes, 
And the soft murmurs of Iraqian flutes,
Were nothing worth: I scan the world and see: 
Save pleasure, life yields only bitter fruits. 

Why toil ye to ensure illusions vain, 
And good or evil of the world attain? 
Ye rise like Zamzam, or the fount of life, 
And, like them, in earth's bosom sink again.

Why spend life in vainglorious essay 
All Being and Not-being to survey? 
Since Death is ever pressing at your heels, 
'Tis best to drink or dream your life away.

The Slaves of Intellect in talk persist;
Die, arguing does this or that exist;
Fools eat dry raisins 'til their souls become
Sour grapes; but wise men on New Wine insist.

I know not which the bait, or which the snare
"Twixt Mosque and Cup I'm drawn, now here, now there;
And yet the Cup, my Darling One, and I,
Are better ripe in wine, than green in prayer.

If round you'd hurry and with Argument 
The Venture that is Profit-bound obtain; 
Potations festive rather we'd prefer
To banal transient Futures there - the Drain!
48
 196
 110
 48
You know, my Friends, with what a brave Carouse 
I made a Second Marriage in my house; 
Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed, 
And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse.
To drain a gallon beaker I design, 
Yea, two great beakers, brimmed with richest wine; 
Old faith and reason thrice will I divorce,
Then take to wife the daughter of the vine.
Let me arise, and in pure wine drink deep,
And bid my cheeks their ripe-fruit colour keep
Then will I throw in meddling Reason's face
Sufficient wine to make her fall asleep.
Oh, Logic's bossy Humours I've renounced;
From a chaste, modest, proud Vow off I break.
And wed that rare, young, radiant Dame, Red Wine -
Ah, in my Bosom her I've yearned to take.
49
336 
 120
 49
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.
I know what is, and what is not, I know 
The lore of things above, and things below;
But all this lore will cheerfully renounce, 
If one a higher grade than drink can show. 
I know, though outwardly, of Life and Death;
And, inwardly, of all above, beneath;
But let me boast not, for I nothing know
Beyond the inspiration of Wine's breath.
Did Reason's candent Sun illume a Law 
Newtonian by apt Logicians' Thought? 
Dew of the Vine one hundred fifty Proof -
O Oil in Hand, in HER Law I'd  be taught.
50
 254, 370
 
 50
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!
Deep in the rondure of the heavenly blue,
There is a cup, concealed from mortals' view,
Which all must drink in turn; Oh, sigh not then, 
But drink it boldly, when it comes to you!

Last night that idol who enchants my heart, 
With true desire to elevate my heart, 
Gave me his cup to drink; when I refused, 
He said, "Oh, drink to gratify my heart!" 

 
A noble God in "Beer Shed" Bar appears
As through a Passageway in Heaven's Vault.
He did decant: "Let's drink! Grant Health to thee!"
Alas, he egged me on -  it's not my Fault!
51
 194
 77
 51
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.
Drink wine to root up metaphysic weeds,
And tangle of the two-and-seventy creeds; 
Do not forswear that wondrous alchemy, 
'Twill turn to gold, and cure a thousand needs.
Drink Wine, that heals all woes, and thou shalt yet
The seventy-two contentious sects forget;
Shun not that Alchemist, who in the Cup
A draught to cure a thousand ills hath set.
Get Gin and Ice; to Men in cultic, hot, 
Fanatic Arguments bid thee farewell:
Enjoy that solvent Claret's Taste that will
That human Scourge, the sober State, dispel.
52
 
 
 52
The mighty Mahmúd, 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.
 
 
A Monarch fought: "Let die, a brutal Host!" 
Whacking this Infidel that storms the Wall; 
And thy sad Cross? by Christ it is removed;
Ah, thus Men's Dread does now the Vine forestall.
53
 
 78, 104
 53
Why, be this Juice the growth of God, who dare Blaspheme the twisted tendril as Snare? 
A Blessing, we should use it, should we not? 
And if a Curse -- why, then, Who set it there?
 
Is wine an evil? Tell me first who drinks,
How much he thirsts, with whom his glass he clinks?
If these conditions three be meetly fill'd,
No son of Wisdom from the grape-juice shrinks.

Of this good spirit, that men call Pure Wine,
They say, "Twill heal that broken heart of thine."
Haste then, and bring me three o'erbrimming cups,
Impute no evil to a gift divine.

Hiss at the Grape, God's Gift to us with which
We wash the wounded Heart? Let's not! Indeed,
We shed our Torments. Ah, her blissful Joy!
The curly Bine's a Weal - This be no Weed!
54
 
 
 54
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!
 
 
Should I a pungent fluid Thrill refuse?
A Cider? My!  the Bottle seek to curb.
And vow, in Faith's Contentment drunk, to wait
For promised Juice from some Sublimer Herb.
55
 67
 127
 55
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.
Drunkards are doomed to hell, so men declare,
Believe it not, 'tis but a foolish scare; 
Heaven will be empty as this hand of mine, 
If none who love good drink find entrance there. 
'Tis better here with Love and Wine to sit
Than to become the zealous hypocrite;
If all who love or drink are doom'd to Hell,
On whom shall Heaven bestow a benefit?
Herald that Gospel Joy ineffable;
Ah, think: "That sacred Rapture!", but remove
Hot hidden Passion - and Beer's Happiness? 
Libation out! A Dew we don't approve.
56
 216, 308, 367
 58
 56
But leave the Wise to wrangle, and with me 
The Quarrel of the Universe let be: 
And, in some corner of the Hubbub couch'd, 
Make Game of that which makes as much of Thee.
Slaves of vain wisdom and philosophy, 
Who toil at Being and Nonentity,
Parching your brains till they are like dry grapes, 
Be wise in time, and drink grapejuice like me! 

'Tis well to drink, and leave anxiety 
For what is past, and what is yet to be; 
Our prisoned spirits, lent us for a day, 
A while from season's bondage shall go free! 

Chief of old friends! harken to what I say, 
Let not heaven's treacherous wheel your heart dismay; But rest contented in your humble nook,
And watch the games that wheel is wont to play.

The circling planets, that in space abound,
The brains of our most learnèd ones confound;
Hold fast the Cord, for they that make thee spin,
Themselves with giddiness will turn around!
Men fret: "Ah, seek the Gem of Truth above" -
See how: encumbered quite with glib Debate.
I have a Hunch all's Luck, or random Chance;
We thumb our Noses at the Whim of Fate!
57
 297, 310, 491
 108
 57
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.
This world a hollow pageant you should deem; 
All wise men know things are not what they seem; 
Be of good cheer, and drink, and so shake off 
This vain illusion of a baseless dream. 

This wheel of heaven, which makes us all afraid, 
I liken to a lamp's revolving shade, 
The sun the candlestick, the earth the shade,
And men the trembling forms thereon portrayed.

Man is a cup, his soul the wine therein, 
Flesh is a pipe, spirit the voice within; 
O Khayyam, have you fathomed what man is? 
A magic lantern with a light therein! 

This vault of Heaven, 'neath which like fools we sit,
Is but a magic-lantern, dimly lit:
The sun the flame, the Universe the lamp,
We are the figures that revolve in it.
A hub of War, a chaotic human Flux!
His macho Pageant?  Wounded Mob downcast 
Who, God-abandoned, bow in Ruin see -
I view those ghostly Outlines orbing past.
58
 52
 102
 58
And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press, 
End in the Nothing all Things end in--Yes---
Then fancy while Thou art, Thou art but what 
Thou shalt be---Nothing--thou shalt not be less.
If the heart knew life's secrets here below, 
At death 'twould know God's secrets too, I trow; 
But, if you know naught here, while still yourself,
To-morrow, stripped of self, what can you know? 
Khayyám, though drunk, lift up thy cheerful voice,
Be happy with the darling of thy choice;
If in the end of things thou must be naught,
Imagine thou art nothing now. Rejoice!
You'll learn this euphuistic Truth: that though 
Thy shining Life doth fill the Body now,
An unseen Being plants it 'neath the Dust -
That Bane! don't seek, in Reason, why nor how.
59
 254, 362
 
 59
So when the Angel of the darker Drink 
At last shall find you by the river-brink, 
And, offering his Cup, invite your Soul 
Forth to your Lips to quaff--you shall not shrink.
Deep in the rondure of the heavenly blue, 
There is a cup, concealed from mortals' view, 
Which all must drink in turn; Oh, sigh not then, 
But drink it boldly, when it comes to you!

O man, who are creation's summary,
Getting and spending too much trouble thee! 
Arise, and quaff the Etern Cupbearer's wine, 
And so from troubles of both worlds be free!

 
Oh, yonder Whisky Inn! you I have heard:
"This Brain-rot's good!", an Offer ne'er I'll spurn.
"Try killer Vodka, nifty, loathful Stuff."
Oh Throat be quick, his Flagons let's upturn.
60
 161
 59
 60
And fear not lest Existence closing your 
Account, should lose, or know the type no more; 
The Eternal Sáki from that Bowl has pour'd
Millions of Bubbles like us, and will pour.
What though the sky with its blue canopy 
Doth close us in so that we can not see, 
In the etern Cupbearer's wine methinks 
There float a myriad bubbles like to me.
I do not dread Extinction: far more bliss
Lies in that half of Time than lives in this;
This life was lent by God, and unto Him
I will surrender what I shall not miss.
Thou monotypic, thou scarce, brilliant Souls,
Unparalleled, rare, unknown Flakes of Snow;
Reflect on this Idea, O troublesome Truth:
Examples by the billions does God know!
61
 
 18
 61
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.
 
How long shall I throw pebbles on the sea?
What are the Idol-worshippers to me?
Who says "Khayyám is surely doomed to Hell?"
Hast thou been there? Hath heaven rejected thee?
Oh Child, afraid, cry: "Oh the Hell!"-- and All 
We get, Oh God, will be a Snub, a Pause.
With the mad Churning of the Human Race
Stones lobbed onto the Waves no Ripples cause.
62
 24
 101
 62
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?
From doubt to clear assurance is a breath, 
A breath from infidelity to faith; 
O precious breath! enjoy it while you may, 
'Tis all that life can give, and then comes death. 
Here is good counsel, give thine ear to me,
Wear not the garment of hypocrisy;
The Future is unending, Life is short,
Sell not for it the whole Eternity.
Quit seeking, vital Seconds drift away;
Faith? Death? put off Disputes, be thou exhorted.
An unseen Detail ended a Debate --
Then how is your Place here in Clay supported?
63
 109
 
 63
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;
Once and again my soul did me implore, 
To teach her, if I might, the heavenly lore; 
I bade her learn the Alif well by heart. 
Who knows that letter well need learn no more. 
 
If your Eyes could arrive at a Rouleau
That wraps the Truth, and Genuine deduce,
Ye may one Tittle see, the finest Thread's
Avoided Strand, Oh it shall be of use.
64
75, 247
 48
 64
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;
The very wine a myriad forms sustains, 
And to take shapes of plants and creatures deigns;
But deem not that its essence ever dies, 
Its forms may perish, but its self remains. 

The world is baffled in its search for Thee, 
Wealth can not find Thee, no, nor poverty; 
Thou'rt very near us, but our ears are deaf, 
Our eyes are blinded that we may not see! 

For, those who from the date its vintage take,
And they who all night long devotions make,
All are submerg'd, not one remains on Earth,
All are asleep: One only is awake.
The Universe's Prime Cause who produces 
All Creatures by the Forms and Phases taking;
He'll cruelly vanquish one, another helping -
In Kindness to him, great in Riches making.
65
 475
 
 65
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.
Now in thick clouds Thy face Thou dost immerse, 
And now display it in this universe; 
Thou the spectator, Thou the spectacle, 
Sole to Thyself Thy glories dost rehearse. 
 
Dim Inkling of Forever? - fathom Him?
Men retrocede, accurs'd, left hobbl'd, blind.
"Ha ha! Men's hopeless, e'er tormented Tears."
Thus, so detached, He oft toys with Mankind.
66
 282, 408, 457
 
 66
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, when You shall be You no more
Khayyam! rejoice that wine you still can pour, 
And still the charms of tulip cheeks adore; 
You'll soon not be, rejoice then that you are, 
Think how 'twould be in case you were no more!

These heavens resemble an inverted cup, 
Whereto the wise with awe keep gazing up; 
So stoops the bottle o'er his love, the cup, 
Feigning to kiss, and gives her blood to sup! 

Bow down, heaven's tyranny to undergo, 
Quaff wine to face the world, and all its woe; 
Your origin and end are both in earth,
But now you are above earth, not below! 

 
One naive Prayer to God afar intone now?
Thou Hush above - mute, Zero, no Reply?
No! thou, My Faithful, Union anon be shown - how?
When to our World you bid your last Goodbye. 
67
 386
 
 67
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.
Behold the tricks this wheeling dome doth play, 
And earth laid bare of old friends torn away! 
O live this present moment, which is thine,
Seek not a morrow, mourn not yesterday!
 
Equations Cubic do my hard Proofs solve;
But how may Man's poor Path make any Sense?
Oh by my "Hard Ordeal Theorem" try
Eradicating  past and future Tense.
68
 107, 123
 24, 35, 50, 135
 69
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.
Drink wine! long must you sleep within the tomb,
Without a friend, or wife to cheer your gloom; 
Hear what I say, and tell it not again, 
"Never again can withered tulips bloom. " 

Heaven's wheel has made full many a heart to moan, 
And many a budding rose to earth has thrown; 
Plume thee not on thy youth and lusty strength, 
Full many a bud is blasted ere 'tis blown.

In cell and cloister, mosque and synagogue,
Are men whose steps the fear of Hell doth dog;
But he who carries God within his breast
Is independent of the Pedagogue.

Drink Wine: for 'neath the clay in silent gloom
Long shalt thou sleep, with none to share thy tomb;
Reveal this hidden secret unto none -
The wither'd tulip ne'er again will bloom.

The Slaves of Intellect in talk persist;
Die, arguing does this or that exist;
Fools eat dry raisins 'til their souls become
Sour grapes; but wise men on New Wine insist.

The Rose's skirt is tatter'd by the breeze,
But Nightingales still woo her in the trees;
Sit in her fragrant bower, for oft the wind
Hath strewn and turn'd to dust such flowers as these.

Oh fear in Hades' Fires to die, or live
In Faith: "God's Throne still shines - All can arise!"
Fact: "When I cease to be there's Nothing left", 
That wilted, spent Rose, Oh so faint, replies.
69
 
 
 69
If I myself upon a looser Creed
Have loosely strung the Jewel of Good Deed,
Let this one Thing for my Atonement plead:
That One for Two I never did mis-read.
 
Oh Loving-God, Devout, Nice, or On-Time, 
If on my String of Life ye sparsely see,
Oh jot down Hate-Deleted, Free, and True -
Those matter, and so He will plead for me.
70
 129, 152, 258, 266, 267
 97
 70
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.
Full many a hill and vale I journeyed o'er; 
Yea, journeyed through the world's wide quarters four, But never heard of pilgrim who returned; 
When once they go, they go to come no more.

Ah! wealth takes wings, and leaves our hands all bare,
And death's rough hands delight our hearts to tear; 
And from the nether world none e'er escapes, 
To bring us news of the poor pilgrims there.

Whoe'er returned of all that went before,
To tell of that long road they travel o'er? 
Leave naught undone of what you have to do, 
For when you go, you will return no more. 

They go away, and none is seen returning, 
To teach that other world's recondite learning;
'Twill not be shown for dull mechanic prayers, 
For prayer is naught without true heartfelt yearning. 

Go to! Cast dust on those deaf skies, who spurn 
Thy orisons and bootless prayers, and learn 
To quaff the cup, and hover round the fair; 
Of all who go, did ever one return? 

Fling dust at heaven, that every offering spurns;
Drink wine, and love while thy desire yet burns;
What time is this to worship or to pray?
Of all that have departed, none returns.
Adventurers who drift off to the Stars
Report not to this World, as is the Rule.
My Death? no Document suggests a View;
For that no Book is authored, there's no School.
71
 209
 
 71
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.
They who by genius, and by power of brain,
The rank of man's enlighteners attain, 
Not even they emerge from this dark night, 
But tell their dreams, and fall asleep again.
 
Arise! put low that Creed that's all absurd, 
Born of profound, enshrined Philosophers.
Flee Errors flawed we've known and loved, but loathe
To see to these Reality demurs.
72
 436
 145
 72
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?
O soul! could you but doff this flesh and bone, 
You'd soar a sprite about the heavenly throne; 
Had you no shame to leave your starry home, 
And dwell an alien on this earthly zone?
O Soul! if thou this dust aside canst fling,
And soar through space upon unfetter'd wing,
Infinity thy sphere - count it thy shame
That to this earth contented thou dost cling.
His sinful Body Man lays down, as Ache
And Anguish he divorces in the Earth.
A Human? let us see, if infinite,
Too bad it takes so long to Death from Birth!
73
 82, 255
 
 73
'Tis but a Tent where takes his one-day's rest 
A Sultan to the realm of Death addrest; 
The Sultan rises, and the dark Ferrásh 
Strikes, and prepares it for another Guest.
Thy body is a tent, where harborage 
The Sultan spirit takes for one brief age;
When he departs, comes the tent-pitcher death,
Strikes it, and onward moves, another stage.

Though you should live to four, or forty score, 
Go hence you must, as all have gone before; 
Then, be you king, or beggar of the streets, 
They'll rate you all the same, no less, no more. 

 
The potent Satrap's Status? Fortunate? 
Hiers' Habitat, the flurried Legend's Khan?
If these, Tartarean Disasters shake, 
Destroyed Dreams stoke another Ruler's Dawn.
74
 114
 15, 28
 74
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."
Pen, tablet, heaven and hell I looked to see 
Above the skies, from all eternity; 
At last the master sage instructed me, 
"Pen, tablet, heaven and hell are all in thee."
This, in the Dawn of Being, my behest,
My wand'ring soul for Heav'n and Hell made quest,
For Pen and Tablet; 'til the Teacher said
"Thou has them all, O Man, within thy breast!"

Then inspiration from on High I sought,
Asking that Knowledge might to me be brought;
But presently my heart said,"Pray no more!
The power of Prayer is all, the Prayer is naught!"

To find my End, Men, Glory Site or Hell,
I did fly up near unto Heaven's Vault:
The Master says Damnation's best for me; 
He adds: "The Blame for Hell is all thy Fault!"
75
 45, 92
 33
 75
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.
Facts will not change to humor man's caprice, 
So vaunt not human powers, but hold your peace; 
Here must we stay, weighed down with grief for this. 
That we were born so late, so soon decease.

Skies like a zone our weary lives enclose, 
And from our tear-stained eyes a Jihun flows;
Hell is a fire enkindled of our griefs; 
Heaven but a moment's peace, stolen from our woes.

Tired am I. The Firmament my belt;
A mighty river are the tears I've spilt;
Hell is a spark struck by my restless soul,
And Heaven the joy my tranquil heart hath felt.
Faith's Vista there: Love's golden Paradise;
Hot Hades' horrid Oven of a Cell -
Illusions both, harsh Demons exorcise,
Man's fire of Woe snuff out - well, sound the Knell!
76
 
 
 76
Oh Thou who burn'st in Heart for those who burn
In Hell, whose Fires thyself shall feed in turn;
How long be crying, "Mercy on them, God!
"Why, who art Thou to teach, and He to learn?
 
"How can you God?", dost Thou now trembling howl
For th'naughty Wretches thrown in Hades Heat;
"Oh why not free?" Inferno horrible!
But Flames He'll churn there, On His holy Seat.
77
 270
 46, 94
 77
'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.
We are but chessmen, destined, it is plain, 
That great chess-player, Heaven, to entertain; 
It moves us on life's chess-board to and fro, 
And then in death's dark box shuts up again.
O thou, whose cheek is modell'd like the Rose,
No brighter eye far Cathay's idol shows;
Thy glance hath taught the Shah of Babylon
Each move that Life's eventful chessboard knows.

To speak plain language, parable to shame,
We are the pieces, Heaven plays the game:
A childish game upon the board of Life,
Then back into the Box from whence we came.

Life's basic Facts this Chess Match parallel:
Some merely Pawns, yet others Kingly; yea
Both transient indeed, yes, and anon
Both vanquished or dethroned and hid away.
78
 401
 
 78
The Ball no Question makes of Ayes and Noes, 
But Right or Left, as strikes the Player goes; 
And he that toss'd Thee down into the Field, 
He knows about it all -- He knows -- HE knows!
Man, like a ball, hither and thither goes, 
As fate's resistless bat directs the blows;
But He, who gives thee up to this rude sport, 
He knows what drives thee, yea, He knows, He knows!
 
Our Life equates to Basketball - we, trying
For Swooshes, how we hope to sink that Shot!
O bonny elegant Slam Dunk? not Life!
Then die, Death's Darkness hides Thee - Thanks a lot!
79
 35
 31, 54, 95
 79
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, 
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.
'Twas writ at first, whatever was to be, 
By pen, unheeding bliss or misery, 
Yea, writ upon the tablet once for all, 
To murmur or resist is vanity.
For He, to whom all future things are known,
E'en as He made thee wrote thy record down;
And what His pen hath written, good or ill,
No strife may alter, and no grief atone.

Whate'er the Pen hath written stands for aye:
Afflictions's sword the grieving heart will slay;
Though all thy life with anguish thou art wrung,
The forward march of Fate thou canst not stay.

O heart! truth absolute thou canst not see,
Then why abase theyself in misery?
Bow down to Fate, and wrestle not with Time!
The pen will not rewrite one word for thee.

No Mark when put into that Log of Life,
Will vary, it's inviolate -- is unchanged!
A Cry shall not revise thy total Worth,
Nor on a Whim will Facts be rearranged.
80
 4, 426
 143
 80
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 over-reach.
Khaja! grant one request, and only one, 
Wish me God-speed, and get your preaching done; 
I walk aright, 'tis you who see awry; 
Go! heal your purblind eyes, leave me alone. 

Vain study of philosophy eschew!
Rather let tangled curls attract your view; 
And shed the bottle's life-blood in your cup, 
Or e'er death shed your blood, and feast on you.

O Heart! the Fount of Truth thou dost not gain,
To thee Philosophy makes nothing plain;
Build thyself here a Heaven with wine and cup,
For thou may'st ne'er another Heaven attain.
The skeptic Thinker hear? He and the Pope,
Can in hoar Canon wallow all they will;
Oh Power of Brain, no Trance, no fancy Robe,
No Chant at Truth arrives - Lo, hidden still!
81
 96, 125, 161, 229, 408
 41, 72, 134
 81
And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky, 
Whereunder crawling coop't we live and die, 
Lift not thy hands to it for help -- for It 
Rolls impotently on as Thou or I.
The good and evil with man's nature blent, 
The weal and woe that heaven's decrees have sent--- Impute them not to motions of the skies--- 
Skies than thyself ten times more impotent. 

That azure-colored vault and golden tray 
Have turned, and will turn yet for many a day;
And just so we, impelled by turns of fate--- 
Come here but for a while, then pass away. 

What though the sky with its blue canopy 
Doth close us in so that we can not see, 
In the etern Cupbearer's wine methinks 
There float a myriad bubbles like to me. 

Many fine heads, like bowls, the Brazier made, 
And thus his own similitude portrayed; 
He sets one upside down above our heads, 
Which keeps us all continually afraid.

These heavens resemble an inverted cup, 
Whereto the wise with awe keep gazing up; 
So stoops the bottle o'er his love, the cup, 
Feigning to kiss, and gives her blood to sup!

The joy of pain that Fate's decrees allow,
The good or ill inscribed upon Man's brow;
Impute them not unto the Heavens above,
For heaven is ruled by Fate as much as thou.

The tangled secrets of Eternity
Remain unsolv'd; and Time and Space are free
From Man's control; both ignorant and wise
Stand impotent before Infinity.

This heavenly vault is like a fallen bowl,
'Neath which the captive wise in sorrow roll;
Revenge thyself! as do the cup and jar,
When wine is spilt between them cheek by jowl.

That Canopy of Sun with planet Worlds,
Neath which I've groveled wretchedly, no End -- 
Athirst for Liberality from it? No,
Like us, no Pow'r allotted it to lend.
82
 338, 489
 31, 152
 82
With Earth's first Clay They did the Last Man knead,
And then of the Last Harvest sow'd the Seed: 
Yea, the first Morning of Creation wrote
What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.
To confidants like you I dare to say
What mankind really are---molded of clay, 
Affliction's clay, and kneaded in distress, 
They taste the world awhile, then pass away.

Cheer up! your lot was settled yesterday! 
Heedless of all that you might do or say, 
Without so much as "By your leave" they fixed 
Your lot for all the morrows yesterday! 

For He, to whom all future things are known,
E'en as He made thee wrote thy record down;
And what His pen hath written, good or ill,
No strife may alter, and no grief atone.

Be happy! yesterday thy joy or pain
Was fix'd, and yesterday may none regain;
Live happy! for yestr'een, unsought, the Fates
What thou wilt do to-morrow did ordain.

Life's Terror wand'ring down that Road ahead,
Those nasty Sins, and all thy secret Acts --
In that first Week when Thee He made of Dirt, 
That mighty Lord of Heaven knew all those Facts.
83
 87, 297
 26, 31, 51, 152
 83
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.
Make haste! soon must you quit this life below,
And pass the veil, and Allah's secrets know; 
Make haste to take your pleasure while you may,
You wot not whence you come, nor whither go.

This world a hollow pageant you should deem; 
All wise men know things are not what they seem;
Be of good cheer, and drink, and so shake off
This vain illusion of a baseless dream. 

Know this, that soon thou diest, and thy soul
The Book of God's Great Secret must unroll;
Be happy! knowing not whence thou hast come,
Nor whither thou shalt go. Drink out the Bowl!

For He, to whom all future things are known,
E'en as He made thee wrote thy record down;
And what His pen hath written, good or ill,
No strife may alter, and no grief atone.

The Universe gained nothing from my birth,
Nor will my going cause it any dearth
Of dignity or beauty. None can say
Why I should come to, or why leave, the Earth.

Be happy! yesterday thy joy or pain
Was fix'd, and yesterday may none regain;
Live happy! for yestr'een, unsought, the Fates
What thou wilt do to-morrow did ordain.

When you are lucky, or when mighty sick,
If wondrous happy, knocked-down, or annoyed,
Pour Wine! for Martyrdom or Horror worse
Awaits; penned in this System you're destroyed!
84
 377
 56
 84
I tell Thee this--When, starting from the Goal,
Over the shoulders of the flaming Foal 
Of Heav'n Parwin and Mushtara they flung, 
In my predestin'd Plot of Dust and Soul.
In heaven is seen the bull we name Parwin, 
Beneath the earth another lurks unseen; 
And thus to wisdom's eyes mankind appear 
A drove of asses, two great bulls between!
The stars that yon great firmament adorn
Have birth and death, and yet again are born
And in the skirt of Heaven, the womb of Earth,
Are they whom God will yet bring to the morn.
He, God who notes all Truths of human Life,
Of People's Strengths or Failings, in that Gate, 
Didst planetary Favors throw divine -
He'll under them unfold my human Fate.
85
 494
 
 85
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.
The Saki knows my genus properly, 
To all woe's species he holds a key; 
Whene'er my mood is sad he brings me wine, 
And that makes all the difference to me!
 
At Heaven's Gate the brutish Devil froths;
But if I, humble, choose to come, to knock,
He's fled! My Flesh will mutate - Oh, refined,
I'll by and by that auric Highway walk.
86
 10, 262, 339
 2, 37, 117
 86
And this I know: whether the one True Light, 
Kindle to Love, or Wrath -- consume me quite,
One Glimpse of It within the Tavern caught 
Better than in the Temple lost outright.
Men say the Koran holds all heavenly lore, 
But on its pages seldom care to pore; 
The lucid lines engraven on the bowl--- 
That is the text they dwell on evermore. 

In taverns better far commune with Thee, 
Than pray in mosques, and fail Thy face to see! 
O first and last of all Thy creatures Thou, 
'Tis Thine to burn, and Thine to cherish me!

We make the wine-jar's lip our place of prayer, 
And drink in lessons of true manhood there, 
And pass our lives in taverns, if perchance 
The time misspent in mosques we may repair.

Perchance within the Tavern I may see
The inmost secret of Thy Mystery,
While at the Shrine in ignorance I bow;
Burn me or Bless me; I am part of Thee.

Give me red wine my broken heart to heal,
Wine, the good friend of all that passion feel;
I find more comfort in a single draught
Than hollow Heaven bestows on those who kneel.

I know not which the bait, or which the snare
"Twixt Mosque and Cup I'm drawn, now here, now there;
And yet the Cup, my Darling One, and I,
Are better ripe in wine, than green in prayer.

I'll opt to seek Truth - it might anger me,
Or in her hot Enchantment I'll be taught.
O gather Truth? we've looked for it in the Cup,
And whilst within the Mosque we've seen it not.
87
 265
 
 87
What! out of senseless Nothing to provoke 
A conscious Something to resent the yoke 
Of unpermitted Pleasure, under pain 
Of Everlasting Penalties, if broke!
He binds us in resistless Nature's chain, 
And yet bids us our natures to restrain; 
Between these counter rules we stand perplexed,
"Hold the jar slant, but all the wine retain."
 
So! tease and offer Men the keen Enticing 
To seek for Love, yet punishing, suppress? 
O this, it looks to be one utter wanting,
Cold Formula to reave our Happiness! 
88
398
 
 88
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!
Was e'er man born who never went astray? 
Did ever mortal pass a sinless day? 
If I do ill, do not requite with ill! 
Evil for evil how can'st Thou repay?
 
Proffered an hundred hard Laws on a Stone,
Our Prospects be all dashed lest we obey.
Converse Deal: with Hurt and Terror that 
For us is Crime, the Lord can get away!
89
 102
 
 89
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.
If grace be grace, and Allah gracious be,
Adam from Paradise why banished He? 
Grace to poor sinners shown is grace indeed; 
In grace hard earned by works no grace I see.
 
If Fools put on a Frown will we confuse
Good Acts for evil? Wroth I will confute
And chase a rude Crook from the Club away;
Plain Liar, Jerk, retract, or get the Boot!
90
 100, 432
 148
 90
Oh Thou, who didst with pitfall and with gin 
Beset the Road I was to wander in, 
Thou will not with Predestin'd Evil round 
Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin?
When Allah mixed my clay He knew full well 
My future acts, and could each one foretell; 
Without His will no act of mine was wrought; 
Is it then just to punish me in hell? 

With many a snare Thou dost beset my way, 
And threatenest, if I fall therein, to slay; 
Thy rule resistless sways the world, yet Thou 
Imputest sin, when I do but obey!

In every step I take Thou sett'st a snare,
Saying, "Thus will I entrap thee, so beware!"
And, while all things are under Thy command,
That I a rebel am Thou dost declare.
In twisted Paths we wind when in the World;
Oh hidden Trap malign we try to vault.
Oh do behold, if in loath Mud Men slip,
Is't to the Wine due? or is it Man's Fault?
91
 318, 418, 433
 91
Oh, Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make,
And who with Eden didst devise the Snake; 
For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man 
Is blacken'd, Man's Forgiveness give -- and take!
Sure of Thy grace, for sins why need I fear?
How can the pilgrim faint whilst Thou art near? 
On the last day Thy grace will wash me white, 
And make my "black record " to disappear.

Alas! my wasted life has gone to wrack!
What with forbidden meats, and lusts, alack! 
And leaving undone what 'twas right to do, 
And doing wrong, my face is very black! 

To Thee, whose essence baffles human thought, 
Our sins and righteous deeds alike seem naught; 
May Thy grace sober me, though drunk with sins, 
And pardon all the ill that I have wrought!

Although I have not served thee from my youth,
And though my face is masked with sin uncouth,
In thine Eternal justice I Confide
As One who ever sought to follow Truth.
When Heaven did feed a wicked Satan's Glee
Must I that Hearth in Hades seek to fan?
No, from the wretched Shame of evil Works,
With Kindness fair I absolve both God and Man.
92
 466
 
 92
Listen again. One Evening at the Close 
Of Ramazan, ere the better Moon arose, 
In that old Potter's Shop I stood alone 
With the clay Population round in Rows.
It chanced into a potter's shop I strayed, 
He turned his wheel and deftly plied his trade, 
And out of monarchs' heads, and beggars' feet, 
Fair heads and handles for his pitchers made!
 
And in the eerie uptown Ceramic Store
The one that sports the Logo "Noble Pot",
Sonorous Vases, rational there ye'll find.
O what an amazing, opinionated Lot!
93
 
 
 93
Shapes of all Sorts and Sizes, great and small, 
That stood along the floor and by the wall; 
And some loquacious Vessels were; and some 
Listen'd perhaps, but never talk'd at all.
 
 
Bowls of all Types, both Vassals and true Lords, 
Slender and fat, some short and others tall;
Pots valued as a neat Thing when all glazed; 
Some quiet, and Some spoke, as I recall.
94
283 
 103
 94
And, strange to tell, among that Earthen Lot 
Some could articulate, while others not:
And suddenly one more impatient cried -- 
"Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?"
Once, in a potter's shop, a company 
Of cups in converse did I chance to see, 
And lo! one lifted up his voice, and cried, 
"Who made, who sells, who buys this crockery? "
Within the potter's shop, ere this day broke,
I saw a host of pots - some mute, some spoke;
And suddenly one pot, agressive, cried,
"Who makes, or buys, or sells, us earthen folk?"
Detect two Types here at Container Mart:
One dull appeared (no Tongue), and one Pot smart
Commenting loudly saith: "Hello Dirt! Lo,
Who is the Artist, eh, and who the Art?"
95
 126
 
 95
Then said another -- "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 common Earth again."
The Master did himself these vessels frame, 
Why should he cast them out to scorn and shame? 
If he has made them well, why should he break them? Yea, though he marred them, they are not to blame.
 
"Oh Men, about that able, last unending,
Unknown Creator", says that Count of Clay,
"Might He perhaps Tomorrow maim, beat, hammer
These Human Victims, the Sons he owns Today?"
96
 42, 290
 19
 96
Another said -- "Why, ne'er a peevish Boy, 
Would break the Bowl from which he drank in Joy; 
Shall He that made the vessel in pure Love 
And Fancy, in an after Rage destroy?"
Behold these cups! Can He who deigned to make them,
In wanton freak let ruin overtake them, 
So many shapely feet and hands and heads--- 
What love drives Him to make, what wrath to break them? 

There is a chalice made with wit profound, 
With tokens of the Maker's favor crowned; 
Yet the world's Potter takes his masterpiece, 
And dashes it to pieces on the ground!

The Craftsman who hath made a cup so rare
To hold his wine, will handle it with care.
For love of whom, then, made He thee and me,
For hate of whom to break and not to spare?
"Dire Rampage? Heav'n annoyed? Allay that Fear!
Who tenderly," now spake the Duke of Dirt,
"New Vases fashioned, shall His Hobby be
Reject in Violence? Why harm or hurt?"
97
 
 
 97
None answer'd this; but after Silence spake
A Vessel of a more ungainly Make: 
"They sneer at me for leaning all awry;
What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?"
 
 
Heed the shy Urn that, leaning awkward there,
Laments: "O No! Why me? for Heaven's sake! 
Of any and all Hope bereft?" -- It seems 
A gentle Artist finer Pains could take.
98
 193, 204
 
 98
"Why," said another, "Some there are who tell 
Of one who threatens he will toss to Hell 
The luckless Pots he marred in making -- Pish! 
He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well."
They say, when the last trump shall sound its knell, 
Our Friend will sternly judge, and doom to hell. 
Can aught but good from perfect goodness come?
Compose your trembling hearts, 'twill all be well.

Can alien Pharisees Thy kindness tell, 
Like us, Thy intimates, who nigh Thee dwell? 
Thou say'st, "All sinners will I burn with fire." 
Say that to strangers-we know Thee too well. 

 
"Oh weep, in the sweet Lord who dwells on High!"
The Marchioness of Mud laments; she spake:
"Why, shall He total, fatal Terror loose?
I'll get in Hell's Ordeal?" We will not bake!
99
 330
 116
 99
Then said another with a long-drawn Sigh, 
"My Clay with long oblivion is gone dry:
But, fill me with the old familiar Juice, 
Methinks I might recover by-and-by!"
When Death shall tread me down upon the plain, 
And pluck my feathers, and my life-blood drain, 
Then mold me to a cup, and fill with wine; 
Haply its scent will make me breathe again.
When Fate hath trampl'd me beneath her feet,
And torn me from the hope of Life so sweet,
Make nothing but a goblet of my clay;
When full of wine my heart once more may beat.
"And in thy Loving, Sir, go bring a Keg
Of Brew", hints the old Earl, that Urn all soiled, 
"Which can me of my Dying Limbo witch -- 
I may just thrive when by it I am oiled."
100
 218
 158
 100
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!" 
Hark to the Porter's Shoulder-knot a-creaking!"
Now Ramadan is past, Shawwal comes back, 
And feast and song and joy no more we lack;
The wine-skin carriers throng the streets and cry, 
"Here comes the porter with his precious pack."
Ramazán's end draws near, Shawwál doth break,
The time with flowers and joy to merry-make;
Now porters with their loads stand back to back
Laden with wine. - Up, bottles, and awake!
The earthen Jars, those Kegs, conversed a while;
One looked into the Sky, the new Orb spotting,
All cheered "Ah, see the Carrier's back-hung Yoke - 
He'll People greet, the Inn's Brew Orders trotting."
101
 6, 139
 69
 101
Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide, 
And wash my Body whence the Life has died, 
And in a Windingsheet of Vine-leaf wrapt,
So bury me by some sweet Garden-side.
When I am dead, with wine my body lave,
For obit chant a bacchanalian stave, 
And, if you need me at the day of doom, 
Beneath the tavern threshold seek my grave.

Comrades! I pray you, physic me with wine, 
Make this wan amber face like rubies shine, 
And, if I die, use wine to wash my corpse,
And frame my coffin out of planks of vine!

With wine my bodily defects make good:
Tincture my amber visage with its blood;
With rosy wine my last ablutions make,
And build my coffin of the Vine's sweet wood.
Bathe me with Wine when auld, if I am going
Off to my Final Rest, ere I've descended;
Prepared by His hands, Ivy Garlands sewing;
Ah, my Wish: by a Weed of Hope attended!
102
 17
 
 102
That ev'n my buried Ashes such a Snare 
Of Perfume shall fling up into the Air, 
As not a True Believer passing by 
But shall be overtaken unaware.
So many cups of wine will I consume,
Its bouquet shall exhale from out my tomb, 
And every one that passes by shall halt,
And reel and stagger with that mighty fume.
 
Anon a Scent of Gin vents by my Grave;
Ah, let a Brewer's fun Smell here arise --
Up! Up! Ah, sent above a lush Turf Bed;
Ah, I inhale it - talk about Surprise!
103
 
 
 103
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.
 
 
Ah, floral Tavern where that unloved Man 
His Thirst for Coolness doth abate and quench;
Ah, mellow Grove, at ease let's be reclining;
Care halt, on that dear quiet shaded Bench.
104
 327, 332
 45, 93
 104
Indeed the Idols I have loved so long
Have done my Credit in Men's Eye much wrong: 
Have drown'd my Honour in a shallow Cup, 
And sold my Reputation for a Song.
For Thee I vow to cast repute away, 
And, if I shrink, the penalty to pay; 
Though life might satisfy Thy cruelty, 
'Twere naught, I'll bear it till the judgment-day!

'Tis dawn! my heart with wine I will recruit, 
And dash to bits the glass of good repute; 
My long-extending hopes I will renounce, 
And grasp long tresses, and the charming lute.

My empty purse on wine must cast the blame:
My kisses, love, have robbed thee of thy fame;
Some pledge themselves to faith in Heav'n or Hell:
But who hath been to Hell? From Heav'n who came?

We break each vow: upon ourselves once more
Of fame and fair repute we shut the door;
Reproach me not with folly, for, in truth,
The Wine of Love hath caught me, as of yore.

Oh Hedonism Peril ponder now:
Loud, vulgar Gods I'd not avoid, and hence
My darn old fool Ways my Esteem have harmed. 
Unworthy Anguish! I've lost Innocence.
105
165,  212, 327
 16, 61, 65, 93
 105
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.
Needs must the tavern-hunter bathe in wine, 
For none can make a tarnished name to shine; 
Go! bring me wine, for none can now restore 
Its pristine sheen to this soiled veil of mine.

Ah! thou hast snared this head, though white as snow, 
Which oft has vowed the wine-cup to forego; 
And wrecked the mansion long resolve did build, 
And rent the vesture penitence did sew! 

For Thee I vow to cast repute away,
And, if I shrink, the penalty to pay; 
Though life might satisfy Thy cruelty, 
'Twere naught, I'll bear it till the judgment-day!

But bring me Wine; for words I do not care;
I have thy lips, and all my Heav'n is there;
Bring wine to match thy cheeks; my penitence
Is full of tangles as thy clust'ring hair.

Though old, with love for thee I am forlorn,
Or else the wine thou bringest I would scorn;
Thou hast destroy'd my early penitence:
The garment Patience sewed the Years have torn.

Ablution in the tavern needs much wine;
The tarnish'd reputation ne'er will shine;
Be happy! for our veil of Temperance
Is torn beyond repair. Why then repine?

We break each vow: upon ourselves once more
Of fame and fair repute we shut the door;
Reproach me not with folly, for, in truth,
The Wine of Love hath caught me, as of yore.

We, burdened by a Weight of Care despair,
A Soberness intend, no more to trip;
Then feindish Independence stirs, and we
Are beaten, we cheat and reach: "One more Nip!"
106
 165, 208
 62, 118
 106
And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel, 
And robb'd me of my Robe of Honor -- well, 
I often wonder what the Vintners buy 
One half so precious as the Goods they sell.
Needs must the tavern-hunter bathe in wine, 
For none can make a tarnished name to shine; 
Go! bring me wine, for none can now restore 
Its pristine sheen to this soiled veil of mine. 

While Moon and Venus in the sky shall dwell, 
None shall see aught red grape-juice to excel: 
O foolish publicans, what can you buy 
One half so precious as the goods you sell?

My veil of Temperance by wine is rent,
But still with wine my soul shall be content;
How can the vintners purchase better goods
Than those which to the market they have sent?
Fools do far too much Ale imbibe, and land
In deathly Sewers -- Ah me! Hell is dry!
Persons who host the Garden Vine, how can
Ye hope to find new nobler Stuff to buy?
107
 155
 67, 135
 107
Alas, 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!
Now is the volume of my youth outworn, 
And all my spring-tide blossoms rent and torn. 
Ah, bird of youth! I marked not when you came 
Nor when you fled, and left me thus forlorn.
The day is fair, and free from cold or heat,
And rain hath wash'd the dust from roses sweet;
The nightingale cries in the Ancient Tongue -
"Drink, pallid rose, and blush at Love's pulse-beat!"

The Rose's skirt is tatter'd by the breeze,
But Nightingales still woo her in the trees;
Sit in her fragrant bower, for oft the wind
Hath strewn and turn'd to dust such flowers as these.

How wrong! when Instinct's Hand a Man at Birth
Clothes with hot, pure, and wistful Passion high,
Then Age wreaks all that windy Havoc's Change.
Ah, the stern, senseless Thought: the Soul can die!
108
 26, 217
 49
 108
Would but the Desert of the Fountain yield
One glimpse--if dimly, yet indeed, reveal'd
To which the fainting Traveller might spring, 
As springs the trampled herbage of the field!
My life lasts but a day or two, and fast 
Sweeps by, like torrent stream or desert blast, 
Howbeit, of two days I take no heed--- 
The day to come, and that already past.

Sense, seeking happiness, bids us pursue 
All present joys, and present griefs eschew; 
She says, we are not as the meadow grass, 
Which, when they mow it down, springs up anew. 

The voice that haunts thy peace, within thy brain
A hundred times a day sings this refrain:-
"Thou livest but a moment, and art not
Like herbs which, gathered once, spring up again."
Mine Eyes by glare from Gold's Allure go blind,
If in the Earth I fame-distracted grope.
When might I find thy Tent, divine deep Well
Of splendid Truth that give's us heart-felt Hope?
109
 257, 486
 
 109
Would but some winged Angel ere too late 
Arrest the yet unfolded Roll of Fate, 
And make the stern Recorder otherwise 
Enregister, or quite obliterate!
O heart! this world is but a fleeting show, 
Why should its empty griefs distress thee so? 
Bow down, and bear thy fate, the eternal pen 
Will not unwrite its roll for thee, I trow!

I wish that Allah would rebuild these skies, 
And earth, and that at once, before my eyes, 
And either 'rase my name from off his roll, 
Or else relieve my dire necessities!

 
Regret Allottee Quota meliorate? 
Could, where we err, God liberal be, and thus 
See not? Oh Lord, seek Torment to negate, 
Rewrite a different Destiny for us!
110
 342
 
 110
Be of Good Cheer -- the sullen Month will die,
And a young Moon requite us by and bye:
Look how the Old one meagre, bent, and wan
With Age and Fast, is fainting from the Sky!
If so it be that I did break the fast, 
Think not I meant it; no! I thought 'twas past--- 
That day more weary than a sleepless night--- 
And blessed breakfast-time had come at last! 
 
Be off, thou harsh, dead, daunting, quiet Globe;
Yea, welcome! Oh bonny, radiant, festal Dawn.
Note now Men sing this Anthem: "Rid it, go!
Oh woeful, darkly solemn Key be gone!"
111
 240, 387, 476
 124, 157
 111
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.
Heaven multiplies our sorrows day by day,
And grants no joys it does not take away; 
If those unborn could know the ills we bear, 
What think you, would they rather come or stay? 

Since all man's business in this world of woe 
Is sorrow's pangs to feel, and grief to know, 
Happy are they that never come at all,
And they that, having come, the soonest go! 

Better to make one soul rejoice with glee, 
Than plant a desert with a colony; 
Rather one freeman bind with chains of love, 
Than set a thousand prisoned captives free!

This world one choice alone for men hath blest,
'Tis either Death, or Life by pain opprest;
How happy he to whom Death quickly comes,
And he who ne'er is born hath perfect rest.

Had I the power, I ne'er had borne Life's thrall,
Nor willingly would lie beneath the Pall
Far better, were it not? if in this world
I ne'er had come, or gone, or liv'd at all.

Off loveless Persons, bold, brash, loud, corrupt,
That go and turn the Earth into a Hell
Where echo other fallen Beings' Screams - 
A rather tremulous, lost, choking Yell.
112
 379
 
 112
Ah Love! could thou 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!
Had I the power great Allah to advise, 
I'd bid him sweep away this earth and skies, 
And build a better, where, unclogged and free,
The clear soul might achieve her high emprise.
 
Stern Destiny we'll see -- invite the Muse 
To stop these unfair Whims, that tragic Plan!
We'd order Terror out; too, I'd halt Ire;
Henceforth that sordid Anguish choose to ban.
113
 7
 113
Ah, Moon of my Delight who know'st no wane, 
The Moon of Heav'n is rising once again: 
How oft hereafter rising shall she look
Through this same Garden after me -- in vain!
Since no one can assure thee of the morrow, 
Rejoice thy heart to-day, and banish sorrow 
With moonbright wine, fair moon, for heaven's moon 
Will look for us in vain on many a morrow.
O, Queen of night, for whom my spirit yearns,
Drink of the wine of life while yet life burns!
How know'st thou that thou art not the one
To whom no moon or morrow e'er returns?
Ah, Night of no Awak'ning hastens near,
For now's the Sunset of my Life, I fear.
No more aglow with Vodka; no more Singing;
Oh, hale Mirth, too? Ah, vanished, lightsome Cheer!
114
 234
 83
 114
And when like her, oh Sáki, you 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!
Comrades! when e'er you meet together here, 
Recall your friend to mind, and drop a tear; 
And when the circling wine-cups reach his seat,
Pray turn one upside down his dust to cheer.
Friends, when ye meet together, ne'er forget;
The one, whom o'er the cup ye oft have met;
And, when ye drink a draught of wholesome wine,
At my turn, upside down a goblet set!
As Comrades gather, hear the Talk, and Laughing,
And Songs as Sherry they enjoy and sup;
Smooth Ales they drink -- O Sorrow? Sure. No Tears!
I want them to upend a wineless Cup.

©  Copyright 2001  Richard Brodie

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