Archives

‘Umr

‘Umr. E.B. Cowell
In: Calcutta Review, No. 59, March, 1858, pp. 149-162.
Potter 319

2
Since life is all passing, what matter Bagdad or Balkh?
If our cup be full, what matter bitter or sweet?
Drink wine, for long after thee and me, yon moon
Will still fill to its full, and still waste to its wane.

3
Yon rolling heaven for our destruction, yours and mine,
Aims its stroke at our lives, yours and mine;
Come, live, sit on the grass – it will not be long
Ere grass grows out of our dust, yours and mine.

4
Wheresoever is rose or tulip-bed,
Its redness comes from the blood of kings,
Every violet stalk that sprlngs from the earth,
Was once a mole on a loved one’s cheek.

5
This flask was once a poor lover like me,
All immersed in the chase of a fair face;
And this its handle you see on its neck
Was once a hand that clasped a beloved.

6
Sweet blows on the rose’s face the breeze of the new spring,
Sweet down in the garden are the faces of the heart inflamers;
But nought is sweet that thou canst tell of a yesterday passed;
Come be glad, nor talk of yesterday, – to-day is so sweet.’

7
Oh heart, wert thou pure from the body’s dust,
Thou shouldst soar naked spirit above the sky;
Highest heaven is thy native seat, – for shame, for shame,
That thou shouldst stoop to dwell in a city of clay!

8
My coming was not of mine own design,
And one day I must go, and no choice of mine;
Come, light-handed cupbearer, gird thee to serve,
We must wash down the care of this world with wine.

9
Come bring me that ruby in yon crystal cup,
That true friend and brother of every open heart;
Thou knowest too well that this life on earth
Is a wind that hurries by, – bring the wine.

10
Since none can promise himself to-morrow,
Make that forlorn heart of thine glad today;
Drink wine, fair moon-faced, by the light of yon moon,
For oft shall it look for us and find us not.

11
What though the wine rends my veil,
While I live, I will never tear me away;
I marvel much at the sellers of wine,
For what better thing can they buy than what they sell?

12
The caravan of life hurries strangely by,
Seize every moment that passes in joy;
Why, cupbearer, mourn for the morrow of thy friends?
Give the cup of wine, for the night hurries by.’

13
Some ruby wine and a diwan of poems,
A crust of bread to keep the breath in one’s body,
And thou and I alone in a desert, –
Were a lot beyond a Sultan’s throne.

14
Of all the world my choice is two crusts and a corner,
I have severed my desires from power and its pomp;
I have bought me poverty with heart and soul,
For I have found the true riches in poverty.

15
Oh my heart, since life’s reality is illusion,
Why vex thyself with its sorrows and cares?
Commit thee to fate, contented with the hour,
For the pen, once passed, returns not back for thee!

16
I am not the man to fear annihilation;
That half forsooth is sweeter than this half which we have;
This life of mine is entrusted as a loan,
And when pay-day comes, I will give it back.

17
Heaven derived no profit from my coming hither,
And its glory is not increased by my going hence;
Nor hath my ear ever heard from mortal man, –
This coming and going – why they are at all?

25
Lip to lip I passionately kissed the bowl,
To learn from it the secret of length of days;
Lip to lip in answer it whispered reply,
“Drink wine, for once gone thou shalt never return!”

26
I went last night into a potter’s shop,
A thousand pots did I see there, noisy and silent;
When suddenly one of the pots raised a cry,
“Where is the pot-maker, the pot-buyer, the pot-seller?”

27
In the view of reality, not of illusion,
We mortals are chess-men and fate is the player;
We each act our game on the board of life,
And then one by one are swept into the box!

28
Yon rolling heavens, at which we gaze bewildered,
Are but the image of a magic lanthorn;
The sun is the candle, the world the shade,
And we the images which flit therein.

29
Last night I dashed my clay cup on the stone,
And at the reckless freak my heart was glad,
When with a voice for the moment out spake the cup,
“I was once as thou and thou shalt be as I!”

30
If coming had been in my power, I would not have come,
If going had been in my power, I would not go;
Oh best of all lots, if in this world of clay
I had come not, nor gone, nor been at all!

31
Ere Death raises his night attack on my head,
Bid them bring the rose-red wine.
No gold art thou, poor brain-sick fool,
That once buried, they should dig thee out again!

39 quatrains from Nicolas

In his famous article in The North American Review, Vol. CIX, No. CCXXXV, Oct. 1869, Charles Eliot Norton included a prose translation of 39 quatrains from Nicolas.

Potter 357 – Norton Edition

1
In this world, which for an instant serves us as an asylum, we have
experienced naught but trouble and misfortune. Alas! no problem of
creation has been solved for us; and yet we quit this earth with
hearts full of regret.
Nicolas 4

2
Since no one can assure us of to-morrow, hasten to rejoice thy sad
heart. Drink, O beloved! drink from the ruby cup; for the moon shall
long turn around the earth without again finding us.
Nicolas 8

3
When I take in my hand a cup of wine, and in the joy of my heart am
drunken, then in the fire that consumes me – behold! – a hundred
miracles become real, and words clear as limpid water seem to explain
the mystery of the universe.
Nicolas 16

4
Unbelief is divided from faith but by a breath; doubt from certainty
but by a breath; life from death but by a breath. Pass gayly over the
dividing line.
Nicolas 20

5
My life runneth out in a brief space: it passeth as the wind of the
desert. Therefore, while a breath remaineth to me, there are two days
concerning which I will not disquiet myself, – the day that hath not
come, and the day that hath gone.
Nicolas 22

6
Who can believe that he who fashioned the cup meaneth to break it to
pieces? All these fair heads, these beautiful arms, these delicate
hands, – by what love are they made? by what hate are they destroyed?
Nicolas 38

7
O Khayyám! why grievest thou because of thy sin? What solace findest
thou in thus tormenting thyself? He who hath not sinned shall not
taste the sweet of forgiveness. It is for sin that forgiveness
exists. How then canst thou fear?
Nicolas 43

8
That day when the heavens shall melt, and the stars be darkened, I
will stop Thee on Thy way, and, seizing Thee by the hem of Thy
garment, will require of Thee to tell me, Why, having given me life,
Thou hast taken it from me.
Nicolas 50

9
I asked of the world, – the bride of man, what was her dowry; and
she answered me, My dowry is the joy of thy heart.
Nicolas 56

10
The heart on whom the light of love hath shone, whose name is written
in the book of love, that heart, whether it frequenteth mosque or
synagogue, is free from fear of hell, or hope of heaven.
Nicolas 60

11
If I drink wine it is not for mere delight of the taste, nor that I
should become disorderly and renounce religion and morality; no, it
is that I may for one moment exist outside of myself.
Nicolas 63

12
I know not whether He who hath created me belongeth to paradise or to
hell; but this I know, that a cup of wine, my beautiful love, and a
lute on the edge of a meadow, are three things which I enjoy to-day,
while thou livest on the promise of a paradise to come.
Nicolas 92

13
At this moment, when life is not yet gone out of my heart, it seemeth
to me there are few problems that I have not solved. But when I
appeal to my understanding, and turn inward on myself, I perceive
that my life hath flowed away, and as yet I have defined nothing.
Nicolas 113

14
O Thou! in whose eyes sin is of no account, order the wise to
proclaim this truth; for there is no folly equal to that of making
the divine foreknowledge the accomplice of iniquity.
Nicolas 116

15
My being was given me without my consent, so that my own existence is
a wonder to me. Yet I leave the world with regret, having
comprehended neither the object of my coming, of my stay, nor of my
departure.
Nicolas 117

16
They who by their learning are the cream of the world, who by their
unerstanding traverse the heights of heaven, even they, in their
search after knowledge of the divine, have their heads turned,
whirling in vertigo, like the firmament itself.
Nicolas 120

17
Give thyself to joy, for grief will be infinite. The stars shall
again meet together at the same point of the firmament; but out of
thy body shall bricks be made for a palace-wall.
Nicolas 138

18
The day when I shall be a stranger to myself, and when my name shall
be as a tale that is told, then make of my clay a wine-jar for use in
the tavern!
Nicolas 154

19
The secrets of existence no man hath penetrated; a step beyond him
self no man hath taken. From the scholar to the master I behold only
incompetence, – the incompetence of all of woman born.
Nicolas 175

20
Who hath found access behind the curtain of destiny? Who hath
knowledge of the secrets of Providence? Night and day, for threescore
years, have I meditated, yet have I learned nothing; the riddle
remaineth unsolved.
Nicolas 177

21
Drink wine! for wine putteth an end to the disquietudes of the heart,
and delivereth from meditations on the two-and-seventy sects. Abstain
not from this alchemy, for if thou drinkest but one jarful, a
thousand infirmities shall fall away from thee.
Nicolas 179

22
The devotee comprehendeth not as we the divine mercy. A stranger
knoweth thee not so well as a friend. If Thou sayest, “Behold, if
thou committest sin I will cast thee into hell,” – go, say it unto
one who knoweth Thee not.
Nicolas 190

23
The rolling heavens do naught but multiply our woes. What they set
upon earth they quickly snatch away. Ah! if they who have not yet
come knew what suffering the world inflicts, they would take good
heed how they came.
Nicolas 195

24
O friend! why busy thyself concerning existence? Why trouble thy
heart and soul with idle thoughts? Live happy; pass joyful days; for
in truth thy advice was not asked concerning creation.
Nicolas 197

25
O Thou, in quest of whom the whole world hath gone astray and is in
distress, neither prayers nor riches avail to find thee out: Thou
takest part in every conversation, but all are deaf; Thou art before
the eyes of all, but all are blind.
Nicolas 204

26
Though I have not pierced the pearl of obedience that is due to Thee,
though never with my heart have I swept up the dust of Thy steps, yet
I despair not of reaching the sill of Thy throne of mercy, for never
have I importuned Thee with my complaints.
Nicolas 229

27
We are puppets with which the heavens amuse themselves; we are pieces
on the chess-board of being, whence we are laid aside, one by one,
into the coffin of nothingness.
Nicolas 231

28
I saw on the walls of the city of Thous a bird, with the skull of
Kay-Kavous before him. The bird said to the skull, Where now is the
noise of thy glory? where now is the sound of thy clarion?
Nicolas 237

29
If the rose be not ours, yet have we not its thorns? If the light
reach us not, have we not the fire? If Heaven refuse me peace, am I
not ready for war?
Nicolas 254

30
All things that the world contains are images and illusions, and he
hath little wisdom who includeth not himself among these images. Be
quiet, then, O friend! drink, and deliver thyself from vain fancies
and thoughts that cannot reach their goal.
Nicolas 256

31
If I am drunken with old wine, so be it. If I am infidel, or
idolater, so be it. Let each man think of me as he will, what matters
it? I belong to myself, and I am that which I am.
Nicolas 297

32
The circle of the universe is a ring of which you and I are the
graven gem
Nicolas 304

33
Lift Thou from my heart the weight of the vicissitudes of life. Hide
from men’s eyes my faults. Give me happiness to-day, and to-morrow
deal with me according to Thy mercy.
Nicolas 321

34
I beheld a man withdrawn into a desert place. He was neither heretic
nor Mussulman; he possessed neither riches, nor religion, nor God,
nor truth, nor law, nor certitude. Who is there in this world or in
the other who hath such courage?
Nicolas 336

35
The wheel of Heaven runs to thy death and mine, O beloved! it
conspires against thy soul and mine. Come, come, sit beside me on the
grass, for little time remaineth before the grass shall spring from
my dust and thine.
Nicolas 348

36
Tell me what man is there who hath not fallen into sin! Can man exist
and not sin? If because I do ill Thou punishest me with ill, say,
what difference is there between Thee and me?
Nicolas 356

37
Thou hast set a hundred snares round about us. Thou sayest, “If ye
fall into them ye shall surely die! It is Thou that spreadest the
net, and if a man be taken in it Thou condemnest him, Thou deliverest
him to death, Thou callest him rebel!”
Nicolas 390

38
A sheikh said to a harlot: “Thou art drunken; thou art taken in the
net of whoso will.” And she answered: “O Sheikh! I am that which thou
sayest; but thou, art thou what thou professest to be?”
Nicolas 441

39
At times Thou art hidden, disclosing Thyself unto no one; then again
Thou revealest Thyself in all the images of the universe. Verily, it
is for Thy self and for Thine own pleasure that Thou workest these
marvels, for lo! Thou art both the show and the spectator.
Nicolas 443

Metrical translations from the quatrains of ‘Umar Khayyám

Metrical translations from the quatrains of ‘Umar Khayyám. By Peter Whalley
In: Jrnl. Asiatic Society of Bengal, Vol. XLVI, Part 1. 1877. Pp. 158-160
Potter 560

I.
There’s not a heart but bleeds for thy disdain;
There’s not a sage but has gone mad for thee;
And thou for love thou giv’st no love again,
There’s not a brain that from thy love is free.

II.
Drink, drink! Like quicksilver I see with ruth
Life from thee slide:
And false is fortune, hope a dream, and youth
Ebbs, like a tide.

III
Come and ere sorrows swarm up to harry is,
Idol mine, blithely the wine-cup we’ll drain.
We are not gold that the rough hands that bury us
Ever should care to exhume us again.

IV.
We are but puppets danced by juggling fate,
To trim the phrase no jot of truth I bate,
On Being’s board we serve to dress a play,
And, played our little game, – we’re packed away.

V.
Though steeped in sin, let no vain qualms be thine,
Nor fear to meet thy Maker. Death atones.
Die drunk en reprobate. His sun will shine
As bland as ever on thy rotting bones.

Vi.
Earth, water, – such is the sum of us:
Monk, priest, – Thou hast made us the same,
Fame, shame, – all that may come of us, –
Thine is the honour, – and thine is the blame.

VII.
I am drunk with old wine? So I am.
A rank libertine? So I am.
Let them think of me what they will,
I am mine: As I am, so I am.

VIII.
Lighten my cares and my sorrow,
Hide from my fellows my guilt,
Keep me happy to-day, – and to-morrow
Deal with me as Thou wilt.

IX.
Some trust their church or creed to bear them out,
Some pray forfaith, and tremble at a doubt.
Methinks I hear a still small voice declare
‘The way to God is neither here nor there.

Quatrains from ‘Omar Khayyám

Quatrains from ‘Omar Khayyám. Whitley Stokes
In: The Academy, XXVII, Nr. 663 (17 Jan. 1885)
Potter 376

I.- Death
I dashed my clay-cup on the stone hard-by:
The reckless frolic raised my heart on high:
Then said a shard with momentary voice:
“As thou have I been: thou shalt be as I.”

Annihilation makes me not fear:
In truth it seems more sweet than lingering here:
My life was sent me as a loan unsought:
When pay-day comes I’ll pay without a fear.

Has God made profit from my coming? Nay.
His glory gains not when I go away.
Mine ear has never heard from mortal man
This coming and this going, why are they?

I’d not have come, had this been left to me:
Nor would I go, to go if I were free:
Oh! best of all, upon this lonely earth
Neither to come nor to go – yea, not to be!

Oh! that there were some place where men could rest,
Some end to look for in this lonely quest,
Some hope that in a hundred thousand years
Our dust might blossom on the Mother’s breast!

Alas for me! the Book of Youth is read:
The fresh glad Spring is now December dead:
That bird of joy whose name was Youth is flown;
Ay me, I know not how he came or fled!

II. – God
Thou art the Opener, open Thou the door:
Thou art the Teacher, teach my soul to soar:
No human masters hold me by the hand:
They pass away – Thou bidest evermore.

I cannot reach the Road to join with Thee:
I cannot bear one breath apart from Thee:
I dare not tell this grief to any man:
Ah hard! Ah strange! ah longing sweet for thee!

III. – Conduct
In school and cloister, mosque and fane, one lies
Adread of Hell, or dreams of Paradise;
But none that know the secrets of the Lord
Have sown their hearts with suchlike phantasies.

Ah, strive amain no human heart to wring:
Let no one feel thine anger burn or sting:
Wouldst thou be lapt in long-enduring joy,
Know how to suffer: cause no suffering.

While sinew, vein and bone together blend,
Outside the path of Doom we cannot wend.
Bow not they neck, though Rustam be thy foe:
Be bound to none, though Hátim be thy friend.

IV. – Consolation
This is the time for roses and repose
Beside the stream that by the meadow goes:
A friend or two, a sweetheart like a rose,
With wine, and none to heed how Mullas prose.

Come, bring that Ruby in yon crystal bowl,
That brother true of every open soul:
Thou knowest overwell this life of ours
Is wind that hurries by – O bring the bowl!

With loving lip to lip the bowl I drain,
To learn how long my soul must here remain,
And lip to lip it murmers, “While you live,
Drink, for, once gone, you come not back again”.

Sweet airs are blowing on the rose of May:
Sweet eyes are shining down the garden gay:
Aught sweet of dead Yestreen you cannot say –
No more of it – so sweet is this To-day!

When Death uproots my life-plant, ear and grain,
And flings them forth to moulder on the plain,
If men shall make a wine-jug of my clay,
And brom with wine, ‘t will leap to life again.

This jar was once a lover like to me,
Lost in delight of wooing like thee;
And, Lo! the handle here upon the neck
Was once the arm that held her neck in fee.

Your love-nets hold my hair-forsaken head:
Therefor my lips in warming wine are red:
Repentance born of Reason you have recked,
And Time has torn the robe that Patience made.

Selections from the Rubaiyat of Omar-i-Khayám

From: The dialogue of the Gulshan-i-Ráz or Mystical Garden of Roses of Mahmoud Shabistari. With selections from the Rubaiyat of Omar-i-Khayám. London: Trübner & Co., 1887.
Potter 332.

Selections from the Rubaïyät of Omar Khayyám

1
The sun has cast on wall and roof his net of burning light,
The lordly day fills high the cup to speed the parting night;
“Wake!” cries in silver accents the herald of the dawn;
“Arise and drink! the darkness flies – the morning rises bright.”

2
The rosy dawn shines through the tavern door,
And cries, “Wake! slumbering reveller, and pour!
For ere my sands of life be all run out,
I fain would fill my jars with wine once more.”

3
To-morrow rank and fame for none may be,
So for to-day thy weary soul set free;
Drink with me, love, once more beneath the moon;
She oft may shine again, but not on thee and me.

4
If wine and song there be to give thee soul-entrancing bliss,
If there be spots where verdant fields and purling brooklets kiss,
Ask thou no more from Providence, nor turn thee in despair;
If there be any Paradise for man, ’tis even this.

5
The ruby lip pours fragrance unto mine,
Thine eye’s deel chalice bids me drink thy soul;
As yonder crystal goblet brims with wine,
So in thy tear the heart’s full tide doth roll.

6
What rech we that our sands run out in Balkh or Babylon,
Or bitter be the draught or sweet, so once the draught is done.
Drink them thy wine with me, for many a silver moon
Shall wane and wax when thou and I are gone.

7
To those who know the truth, what choice of foul or fair
Where lovers rest; though ’twere in Hell, for them ’tis Heaven there.
What recks the Dervish that he wears sackcloth or satin sheen,
Or lovers that beneath their heads be rocks or pillows fair.

8
O Love! chief record of the realms of truth,
The chiefest couplet in the ode of youth!
Oh, thou who knowest not the world of love,
Learn this, that life is love, and love is ruth.

9
Though with the rose and rosy wine I dwell,
Yet time to me no tale of joy doth tell;
My days have brought no sign of hope fulfilled;
‘Tis past! the phantoms fly, and breaks the spell.

10
Though sweet the rose, yet sorely wounds the thorn;
Though deep we drink to-night, we rue the morn;
And though a thousand years were granted, say,
Were it not hard to wait the last day’s dawn?

11
As sweeps the plain the hurrying wind, as flows the rippling stream,
So yesterday from out two lives has passed and is a dream;
And while I live, these to my soul shall bring nor hope nor dread,
The morrow that may never come, the yesterday that fled.

12
Oh, joy in solitude! of these well may the poet sing;
Woe worth the heart that owns no soil wherein that flower may spring;
For when wassail sinks in wailing and traitor friends are gone,
Proudly through vacant hall the sturdy wanderer’s step shall ring.

13
If grief be the companion of thine heart,
Brood not o’er thine own sorrows and their smart;
Behold another’s woe, and learn thereby
How small thine own, and comfort thy sad heart.

14
Oh, swiftly came the winter wind, and swiftly hurried past;
So madly sought my longing soul the rest she found at last;
Now faint and weak as weakness’ self, she waits but for the end;
The bowl is broke, the wine remains, but on the ground is cast.

15
Through the unknown life’s first dark day my soul
Did seek the tablet and the pen, and Paradise and Hell
Then read the teacher from his mystic scroll;
Tablet and pen are in thine hand, and so are Heaven and Hell.

16
Hast seen the world? All thou hast seen is naught,
All thou hast said, thou hast heard or wrought:
Sweep the horizon’s verge from pole to pole, ’tis in vain;
Even all thou hast in secret done is naught.

17
The Architect of heaven’s blue dome and Ruler of the wave
In many a grief-laden heart doth deeper plunge the glaive,
And gathers many a silken tress and many a ruby lip
To fill his puppet-show, the world, and his chibouque, the grave.

18
Though I be formed of water and of clay,
And with the ills of life content for aye,
Ever thou bid’st me shun the joyful cup.
My hand is empty: wherefore bid’st me stay?

From: Omar Khayyám’s Rubaiyat

From: Omar Khayyám’s Rubaiyat. A few of the quatrains untranslated by FitzGerald, literally rendered into the metre and according to the rhyme of the originals. M. Kerney.
In: The Cornhill Magazine, Dec. 1890. Pp. 627-8.
Potter 339

Omar Khayyám’s Rubaiyat
(Quatrain numbers refer to the originals in Nicolas, 1867)

99
Yazdan, chu gil wujud mara aràst.

When God created man from clay, He well
Foreknew what acts our nature would impel.
I sin but by His will: why then would He
Cast me, at Doomsday, in the fire of Hell?

101
Ya rabb, tu karimi va karimi karam ast.

Thou art gracious, Lord! – The Gracious by his grace is know
Why from Iram’s bower is he, whom sin abases thrown?
I obey, and Thou forgivest: grace is none therein.
I rebel, and Thou forgivest: thus Thy grace is shown!

346
Ya rabb, ba-dil asìr man rahmat kun.

Lord! to my heart trepanned, be merciful!
Lord! to my breast grief-spanned, be merciful!
– Pity, oh Lord, this tavern-haunting foot!
To this goblet-snatching hand, be merciful?

43
Khayyam, zi-bahri gunah in matùm chist.

Why mourn, Khayyam, for faults of thy begetting?
What good, or more or less, can come from fretting?
He who ne’er sins can never have forgiveness:
He is forgiven who sins – why then regretting?

111
Afsus kih nan-i pakhta khàman darand.

Raw clowns, alas! the best-baked pies belong to,
And Things, half-men, all things men prize belong to.
Bright Turki glances fill the heart with rapture –
Menials and slaves are they those eyes belong to!

138
Khush bash, kih ghussa bi-karàn kha’ahad bud.

Be gay! for grief all-boundless lies in time to come;
Stars still will gather amid the skies, in time to come;
Out of the bricks that from thy mould they fashion
A palace, for others built, will rise in time to come!

139
Khush bash, kih alami guzràn kha’ahad bud.

Be gay! for the world will onward plod in time to come;
The soul still cry for its fleshly pod, in time to come;
This skull thou seest so sprightly will be lying
Under the foot of the potter trod, in time to come!

47
Dunya didi u har chih dìdi kich ast.

Thou’st seen the world: what met thy sight is nothing
Whate’er on eye or ear smite is nothing.
Th’ horizoned vastness of thy flight is nothing.
The cell that cribs thy limbs at night is nothing.

44
Dar parda-i asrar kasi-ra ràh nist.

Through mystery’s veil we see no pathway tending,
And human soul knows nought of that inwending.
In the clay’s heart alone, man’s heart at rest is –
Ah! that this riddle had as short an ending!

304
Maksud zi-jumla-i afrìnish maaiam.

Creation’s perfect plan and master we are.
In the eye of Heaven, its pearl of lustre we are.
The world’s great orb is like a ring; and doubtless,
The graven gem of its bezelled cluster we are!

Twenty Rubáiyát from Omar Khayyám

Twenty Rubáiyát from Omar Khayyám. George Milner. In: A Note on a new aspect of Omar Khayyám. With twenty specimen renderings of the Rubáiyát by George Milner. Manchester Quarterly, Vol. XVIII, 1899, pp. 9-18.

I
Orthodoxy

If I in pearls of song paid not thy due,
At least, I never from my face withdrew
The dust of sin; so, mercy, Lord, I crave ;
For why? . I never said that One was Two.

II
Abnegation

Better in taverns tell my thought to Thee
Than in the mosque, unthinking; bend my knee;
Dread Power! Just as Thou wilt—burn me in Hell,
Or at Thy side in Heaven let me be.

III
Humility

So far as in thee lies, do not deride
The helpless drunkard. Lay pretence aside ;
If henceforth in thy life thou seekest rest,
With humble folk content thee to abide.

IV
Tenderness

As in thee lieth, grieve not any one,
Let thine own anger burn for thee alone;
Would’st thou hereafter find eternal peace,
Fret, if thou wilt, thyself, but harass none.

V
Live for To-day

To-morrow !—Then for thee no moon may shine,
Make happy ow this passionate heart of thine;
Next moon may seek us long but find us not,
Drink with thy Moon—drink now the fragrant wine.

VI
The Koran and the Wine-cup

Men read the Koran slackly now and then—
Say this is best—we’ll read once more—but when ?
Ah, on the Wine-Cup’s rim a text is writ
Which they will read again and yet again.

VII
Oblivion

Wine and our drunken bodies—both are clear;
But on the drinking-bench no hope or fear ;
Souls, hearts, and garments reek with lees of wine
And earth, air, water are no longer here.

VIII
Friendship

Make but few friends in life, for that is best;
If some be near, keep far away the rest ;
When Wisdom’s eye is opened thou may’st find,
He is thy foe who leant upon thy breast.

IX
The Jug

This jug was once a lover such as I,
And with a fair one lip to lip did lie;
This curling handle on its neck, an arm
That round another’s neck lay tenderly.

LXVI
A Rejoinder

I saw a man who trampled on the clay
Contemptuous ; but I heard the trampled say
In mystic language, ‘‘ Be thou very still,
Thou may’st, like me, be trampled on to-day.”

LXXII
Eternal secrets

The eternal secrets are a tangled skein ;
Who would unravel them makes labour vain,
Tyro and teacher, simpleton and sage,
Alike in abject impotence remain.

LXXX
Spring

The breeze of Spring is in the world again,
And hope revives with soft-descending rain,
The budding boughs are white as Moses’ hand,
And Jesu’s perfumed breath floats o’er the plain.

LXXXII
The Rosebud

Each morn bedecks the tulip’s face with dew,
And tender violets are bent downward too:
But, best of all the rosebud is to me,
Whose closely gathered skirts show nothing through.

LXXXIII
The Empty Glass

Friends, when ye meet the waning day to crown
With mirth and wine, remember I am gone;
And as—poor helpless one !—my turn comes round
For drinking—turn a goblet upside down.

LXXXVI
“Follow Me”

If thou desirest Him—this shalt thou find
Wife, child, and friend must all be left behind ;
Alone into the wilderness depart,
And every burden from thy back unbind.

LXXXIX
The Potter

Within the crowded market yesterday
I saw a potter pounding lumps of clay
That said, in mystic tongue “‘ We were as thou,
And thou shalt be as we—deal gently, pray!”

XCIV
The Chess Board

Now I speak plain—not parables alone—
Heaven plays; we are the pieces; naught is known;
We’re moved across the Board of Life, then fall ;
Into the box of Nothing, one by one.

XCVIII
The Two Logs

Come, fill the cup, for day breaks white as snow ;
Learn colour from the wine in ruby-glow;
Bring me two logs of aloe and make one
Into a lute—the other burn below.

CI
Councel

I give thee counsel—listen unto me;
For sake of Heaven wear not hypocrisy;
Hereafter ends not; Time is but a day;
For that one day, sell not Eternity.

CIII
Pots and Potter

Into a potter’s shop I went last night,
And saw two thousand pots, to left and right ;
Some spoke aloud, some sadly held their peace,
But one, aggressive, cried with all his might—

“Who makes the pots? That’s what I want to know;
Who buys us, standing in ignoble row ?
Who has the right to sell us ?—tell me that ;
And when we’re sold, where is it that we go?