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50 quatrains

50 quatrains. M. Kerney.
In: Works of Edward FitzGerald translator of Omar Khayyam. Reprinted from the original impressions with some corrections derived from his own annotated copies in two volumes. London : New York, Houghton, Mifflin & Co. ; Quaritch, 1887.

Out from our inn, one morn, a voice came roaring – “Up!
Sots, scamps, and madmen! quit your heavy snoring! Up!
Come pour we out a measure full of wine, and drink!
Ere yet the measure’s brimmed for us they ‘re pouring up!”

Darling, ere sorrow thy nightly couch enfold again,
Bid wine be brought, red sparkling as of old, again!
-And Thou, weak fool! think not that thou art gold:
When buried, none will dig thee up from the mould again!

This old inn call’d the world, that man shelters his head in,
(Pied curtains of Dawn and of Dusk o’er it spreading:) –
‘T is the banqueting-hall many Jamshíds have quitted,
The couch many Bahráms have found their last bed in!

Here, where Bahrám oft brimmed his glorious chalice,
Deers breed and lions sleep in the ruined palace; –
Like the wild ass he lassoed, the great Hunter
Lies in the snare of Death’s wild Huntsman callous!

The verdure that yon rivulet’s bank arraying is,
“The down on an angel’s lip,” in homely saying, is –
O tread not thereon disdainfully! – it springet
From the dust of some tulip-cheek that there decaying is!

Let not the morrow make thee, friend, down-hearted!
Draw profit of the day yet undeparted:
We ‘ll join, when we to-morrow leave this mansion,
The band seven thousand years ago that started!

The wheel of Heaven thy death and mine is bringing, friend’.
Over our lives a deadly spell ‘t is flinging, friend!
Come, sit upon this turf, for little time is left
Ere fresher turf shall from our dust be springing, friend!

Myriad minds a-busy sects and creeds to learn,
The Doubtful from the Sure all puzzled to discern:
Suddenly from the Dark the crier raised a cry –
“Not this, nor that, ye fools! the path that ye must turn!”

The learned, the cream of mankind, who have driven
Intellect’s chariot over the heights of heaven –
Void and o’erturned, like that blue sky they trace,
Are dazed, when they to measure Thee have striven!

Forth, like a hawk, from Mystery’s world I fly,
Seeking escape to win from the Low to the High:
Arriving, – when none I find who the secret knows,
Out through the door I go that I entered by!

This life is but three days’ space, and it speeds apace,
Like wind that sweeps away o’er the desert’s face:
So long as it lasts, two days ne’er trouble my mind,
-The day undawned, and the day that has run its race.

Lo! the dawn breaks, and the curtain of night is torn
Up! swallow thy morning cup – Why seem to mourn?
Drink wine, my heart! for the dawns will come and come
Still facing to us when our faces to earthward turn!

Sprung from the Four, and the Seven! I see that never
The Four and the Seven respond to thy brain’s endeavour –
Drink wine! for I tell thee, four times o’er and more,
Return there is none! – Once gone, thou art gone for ever!

Thy body ‘s a tent, where the Soul, like a King in quest
Of the goal of Nought, is a momentary guest; –
He arises; Death’s farrásh uproots the tent,
And the King moves on to another stage to rest.

Up! smooth-faced boy, the daybreak shines for thee:
Brimm’d with red wine let the crystal goblet be!
For this hour is lent thee in the House of Dust: –
Another thou may’st seek, but ne’er shalt see!

A double-sized beaker to measure my wine I’ll take;
Two doses to fill up my settled design I’ll take;
With the first, I’ll divorce me from Faith and from Reason quite,
With the next, a new bride in the Child of the Vine I’ll take!

Those who were paragons of Worth and Ken,
Whose greatness torchlike lights their fellow men,
Out of this night profound no path have traced for us; –
They ‘ve babbled dreams, then fall’n to sleep again!

This vault of Heaven at which we gaze astounded,
May by a painted lantern be expounded:
The light ‘s the Sun, the lantern is the World,
And We the figures whirling dazed around it!

But puppets are we in Fate’s puppet-show –
No figure of speech is this, but in truth ‘t is so!
On the draughtboard of Life we are shuffled to and fro.
Then one by one to the box of Nothing go!

Since life has, love! no true reality,
Why let its coil of cares a trouble be?
Yield thee to Fate, whatever of pain it bring:
The Pen will never unwrite its writ for thee!

In the tavern, better with Thee my soul I share
Than in the mosque, without Thee, uttering prayer –
O Thou, the First and Last of all that is!
Or doom Thou me to burn, or choose to spare.

When the Supreme my body made of clay,
He well foreknew the part that I should play:
Not without His ordainment have I sinned!
Why would He then I burn at Judgment-day?

Life fleets – Why care we then be it sweet or bitter?
At Balkh or at Naishápúr that the soul shall flitter?
Drink wine! for when we are gone, the Moon shall ever
Continue to wax and wane, to pale and slitter!

The wayward caprices my life that have tinted
All spring from the mould on my Being imprinted:
Nought else and nought better my nature could be –
I am as I came from the crucible minted!

Woe! that life’s work should be so vain and hollow:
Sin in each breath and in the food we swallow!
Black is my face that what was Bid, undone is:
-If done the Unbidden, ah! what then must follow?

To a potter’s shop, yestreen, I did repair;
Two thousand dumb or chattering pots were there.
All turned to me, and asked with speech distinct:
“Who is ‘t that makes, that buys, that sells our ware?”

When Fate, at her foot, a broken wreck shall fling me,
And when Fate’s hand, a poor plucked fowl shall wring me;
Beware, of my clay, aught else than a bowl to make,
That the scent of the wine new life in time may bring me!

Let wine, gay comrades, be the food I ‘m fed upon; —
These amber cheeks its ruby light be shed upon!
Wash me in ‘t, when I die; — and let the trees
Of my vineyard yield the bier that I lie dead upon!

Since the Moon and the Star of Eve first shone on high,
Naught has been known with ruby Wine could vie:
Strange, that the vintners should in traffic deal!
Better than what they sell, what could they buy?

Ah! that young Life should close its volume bright away!
Mirth’s springtime green, that it should pass from sight away!
Ah! for the Bird of Joy whose name is Youth:
We know not when she came, nor when took flight away!

If I like God o’er Heaven’s high fate could reign,
I ‘d sweep away the present Heaven’s domain,
And from its ruins such a new one build
That an honest heart its wish could aye attain!

I would God were this whole world’s scheme renewing,
— And now! at once! that I might see it doing!
That either from His roll my name were cancelled,
Or luckier days for me from Heaven accruing!

Since none can be our surety for to-morrow,
Sweeten, my love, thy heart to-day from sorrow :
Drink wine, fair Moon, in wine-light, for the moon
Will come again, and miss us, many a morrow!

See how the zephyr tears the scarf of the rose away;
The rose’s beauty charms the bulbul’s woes away!
Go, sit in the shade of the rose, for every rose
That springs from the earth, again to earth soon goes away!

The moon cleaves the skirt of the night – then, oh! drink Wine!
For never again will moment like this be thine.
Be gay! and remember that many and many a moon
On the surface of earth again and again will shine!

Appoint ye a tryst, happy comrades, anon!
And when – as your revel in gladness comes on –
The Saki takes goblet in hand, oh! remember,
And bless, while you drink, the poor fellow that ‘s gone!

Thou! chosen one from earth’s full muster-roll to me!
Dearer than my two eyes, than even my soul to me!
-Though nothing than life more precious we esteem,
Yet dearer art thou, my love, a hundred-fold to me!

Nothing but pain and wretchedness we earn in
This world that for a moment we sojourn in:
We go! – no problem solved alas! discerning;
Myriad regrets within our bosoms burning!

O master! grant us only this, we prithee:
Preach not! but dumbly guide to bliss, we prithee!
“We walk not straight?” Nay, it is thou who squintest!
Go, heal thy eight, and leave us in peace, we prithee:

Hither! come hither, love! my heart doth need thee;
Come, and expound a riddle I will read thee.
The earthen jar bring too, – and let us drink, love!
Ere, turned to clay, to earthenware they knead thee!

Wash me when dead in the juice of the vine, dear friends!
Let your funeral service be drinking and wine, dear friends!
And if you would meet me again when the Doomsday comes,
Search the dust of the tavern, and sift from it mine, dear friends!

Howe’er with beauty’s hue and bloom endow’d I be,
Of tulip-cheek and cypress-form though proud I be;
Yet know I not why the Limner chose that, here, in this
Mint-house of clay, amid the painted crowd I be!

Unworthy of Hell, unfit for Heaven, I be –
God knows what clay He used when He moulded me!
Foul as a punk, ungodly as a monk,
No faith, no world, no hope of Heaven I see!

Wicked, men call me ever; yet blameless I!
Think how it is, ye Saints! – My life, ye cry,
Breaks all Heaven’s laws – Good lack! I have no sin,
That needs reproach, save wenching and drink! – then, why?

So long as thy frame of flesh and of bone shall be,
Stir not one step outside Fate’s hostelry; –
Bow to no foe thy neck, were ‘t Rustum’s self,
Take from no friend a gift, though Hatim he!

Oh! Thou hast shattered to bits my jar of wine, my Lord!
Thou hast shut me out from the gladness that was mine, my Lord!
Thou hast spilt and scattered my wine upon the clay
O dust in my mouth! if the drunkness be not Thine, my Lord!

In the Springtime, biding with one who is houri-fair,
And a flask of wine, if ‘t is to be had – somewhere
On the tillage’s grassy skirt – Alack! though most
May think it a sin, I feel that my heaven is there!

A flask of red wine, and a volume of song, together;
Half a loaf, – just enough the ravage of Want to tether:
Such is my wish – then, thou in the waste with me!
Oh! sweeter were this than a monarch’s crown and feather!

He who doth here below but half a loaf possess,
Who for his own can claim some sheltering nook’s recess,
He who to none is either lord or thrall –
Go! tell him he enjoys the world’s full happiness!

I know not if He who kneaded my clay to man
Belong to the host of Heaven or the Hellish’ clan; –
A life mid the meadows, with Woman, and Music, and Wine,
Heaven’s cash is to me: – let Heaven’s credit thy fancy trepan!

From the Persian

From the Persian. H.G. Keene
In: Temple Bar, Vol. 119, Nr. 473. London : Macmilland and Co., 1900.

To drink, to bask in Beauty’s love-lit eyes,
Surpasses prayer and fulsome sacrifice;
If Hell were filled with souls of wine and love,
Who would desire to dwell in Paradise?

For we have bowed our heads to wine’s decrees,
To the cup’s pouting lip free hostages;
The Drawer’s hand is on the flagon’s neck,
And the cup smiles, to call life from her lees.

With revelry in this poor hovel of mud
We have pledged for drink our raiment, flesh, and blood,
Freed from the hope of heaven or fear of hell,
Careless of air, of earth, of fire, of flood.

A day—two breaths to breathe in maduess fine—
A life—once spent it will no more be mine—
The world, we know, is hastening to be lost,
Let us too, night and day, be lost in wine.

As on a tablet written our lives are plain
Traced by a pencil free from joy or pain;|
What Fate has fixed esteem a just award,”
For grief and struggle both alike are vain.

Since Life eludes the longings of the heart,
Ah! what avails the struggle or the smart?
Seated beside the waters of regret,
We came too early, and too late depart.

Ah! darling, chosen of the world to me!
Eyesight and marrow of the soul to me!
Nothing is dearer to a man than life,
Yet dearer far than life art thou to me.

There is no heart but bleeds, away from thee,
Thy charms bewilder him who can but see,
And though thou carest not for any one,
There is not any one but cares for thee.

The Temple and the Shrine are built for praise,
The chiming church-bells sound a song of praise;
Mosque and cathedral, rosary and cross,
Are all so many instruments of praise.

Of sin remembered why should man complain?
Why should it cause him more or less of pain?
Knows not of mercy he who knows no sin,
And, but for sin, all mercy would be vain.

Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. Paraphrased, for the most part, from the literal version of J.E. Cadell, by Charles Perez Murphy.
In: The National Magazine, Boston: Vol. XI, No. 3. Dec., 1899. 49 stanzas, with one illus. after Vedder. (Potter)

OF TO-DAY

About Existence, Friend, why fret thee aught?
Why weary soul and mind with useless thought?
Enjoy all things; pass gaily through this world;
Thy counsel, at the first, was never sought,

In heaven, we hear, are Houris, and bright streams,
Where wine runs red, and golden honey gleams.
lf these we worship here, why, where’s the harm?
For in the end we get them—so it seems.

The day is sweet, nor hot nor cool the air;
The dew has left the garden fresh and fair;
The bulbul, softly to the yellow rose
Lamenting, bids us to our wine repair.

Soft, misty veils the rose’s face still shroud;
For wine my longing heart doth cry aloud.
Sleep not, dear Love; it is no time for sleep;
Bring wine, ere morning’s sun be veiled in cloud.

Upon the rose breathes morn‘s fresh, fragrant breeze;
Fair glows a lovely face ‘mid orchard trees.
But sad is all your talk of yesterday;
Sweet is to-day; its passing pleasure seize.

To-day, when all the earth with gladness burns,
Each living heart to greet the desert turns;
On every branch gleams Moses’ snowy hand,
In every breath the soul of Jesus yearns.

Behold, the morning breeze has torn away
The garment of the rose; the bulbul’s lay
Is wildly glad. Yet roses fair as this
Have dropped to earth, and mingled with the clay.

Eternal life we find, and lasting truth,
In wine, that harvest of our fleeting youth;
In time of roses, wine and merry friends,
Be giad and drink,—for that is life, forsooth.

Eternal things, past, present, or to be,
Are mysteries too profound for you and me.
Discuss them not, but be content with wine;
To many a problem it affords a key.

In Heaven, they tell us, fairest Houris are,
Rich sweets, and purest wine in many a jar.
Hand me yon brimming cup; One ringing coin
Is more than boundless credit—off so far.

Drink while you may! Life will not long abide
As bright quicksilver runs, ‘twill swiftly glide.
Fortune is false, and hope a dream, and youth
Ebbs all too soon, like ocean’s heaving tide.

OF LIFE

To men unborn, if you and I could show
What ills await them in this world of woe,
They never would be born; and you and I
Had best have stopped away—as now we know,

I never yet have seen a prosperous day;
Propitious winds have never blown my way;
And if with joy one single breath I drew,
Grief quickly chilled my soul with dire dismay.

The Eternal knot no man has e’er untied,
Nor trod one single step himself outside.
I look from helpless child to helpless sage:
The space betwixt the two is far from wide.

Had choice been mine, I ne’er had come this way;
Were choice now mine, I gladly here would stay;
But, best of all, if in this world of Earth,
Were neither death, nor change, nor sure decay.

Where’er a rose, or flaming tulip, springs,
It takes its hue from blood of buried kings;
From some fair cheek, now dust, each violet grows
That to this summer air its fragrance flings.

Of all the travelers to that unknown shore
Who o’er this self-same road their burdens bore,
Not one came back. Then pass no pleasure by;
For, once.departed, you’ll return no more,

Belief from unbelief, as life from death,
Is separate by just a single breath,
Pass gaily over the dividing line,
Nor heed what Fear or Superstition saith.

We come with anguish to this world of Earth;
We live in wonder, from the hour of birth;
We go with pain, not knowing why, or where,—
Nor why or whence we came, nor life’s true worth.

Yon rolling stars but amplify our woe;
Whate’er they raise, they quickly overthrow.
Ah! Men unborn would never come to Earth,
If what awaits them here they could but know.

OF LOVE

When first it knew thee, to thy presence bright
My heart flew, quickly, and forsook me, quite.
Its mournful master it recalls no more;
Once having loved thee, it reflects thy light.

There’s not a heart but bleeds for thy disdain,
Nor sage, but for thy love hath gone insane;
Though love for love thou never dost return,
The love for thee abides in every brain,

For love of thee, all kinds of blame I bear;
Woe be to me, should I this faith forswear.
Short will the time from now to Judgment be,
If, all through life, thy tyrant chains I wear.

From each red drop that trickles from mine eye
Will spring a gorgeous tulip, by-and-by;
Which, when the heart-sick lover shall behold,
He’ll hope that thou art true, and cease to sigh.

From feigned love no lustre can be shed;
‘Tis like a smouldering fire, and well-nigh dead.
Nights, days, months, years, to weary lovers bring
No peace, no sleep, no rest for heart or head.

Let wine be in my hand, or ever nigh,
And love of beauty still inform mine eye.
Men say to me: “God grant that thou repent!”
Suppose He did? I would not even try.

To hearts on whom the light of love hath shone,—
To those whom love hath made his very own,—
To them, in synagogue, or church, or mosque,
Are hopes of Heaven and fear of Hell unknown.

OF GOD

Some God within this mould my body cast,
Foreseeing all my acts, from first to last;
From Laws of His my sins have birth; so why
Need I be burned in fires, when life is past?

Priest, monk and sinner, we are all the same;
From water and from earth at first wecame;
Of fame, or shame—whatever comes to us—
The honor is Thine own,— and Thine the blame,

Need He speak ill of such as you and I?
Or faults of ours by hundreds multiply?
His mirrors, we: All good and ill, in us,
Within Himself He surely must descry.

Along my path Thou layest many a snare,
And sayest: “I will trip thee, unaware.”
Each atom of this world obeys Thy Law;
I, too, obey,—yet sin, for all my care.

Lay not too hard commands upon the soul;
How can it o’er the body win control?
To drink, or to abstain, is sin. In brief,
He says: “Invert, but do not spill, the bowl.”

This whole, wide world hath gone in search of Thee,
But far astray, and in distress, are we.
We find Thee not; Thou speakest to deaf ears;
Thou art before us,—yet we cannot see,

Obedience is a pearl I ne’er did wear;
Ne‘er swept I, with my heart, Thine altar-stair.
Still, of Thy mercy, (since complaints of mine
Ne’er wearied Thee), I do not yet despair.

In ceaseless strife, my passions war within,
And constant pain I bear, because of sin.
Though Thou mayst pardon all , I burn with shame
From knowing that Thou knowest what has been.

To me, obedience is a pear] unknown;
Thy face I have not sought, because mine own
Was dark with sin. Yet do I not despair;
For Thou, Thyself, art God, and Thou alone.

All human sin is naught, in Thy just sight;
Ordain that men may read this truth aright.
To see Iniquity’s accomplice in
Divine Foreknowledge! That is folly’s height.

Great Knower of each thought and secret thing,
To Whom all men, in time of weakness, cling!
Give me, I pray, repentance, Thy best gift;
Accept my late remorse, O Righteous King!

THE WHEEL OF FATE

That Tyrant Wheel, revolving overhead,
Ne‘er loosed one knot, for living man or dead;
But when it finds a scarred and bleeding heart,
It adds another wound, more blood to shed,

O Tyrant Wheel! I chafe as thou dost turn,
Oh! set me free, for as thy slave I burn.
The fvol and the unwise are favored most;
Then why not I, who have so much to learn?

Lift high your cups, like tulips in the spring;
With tulip-cheeked companions drink and sing.
Soon will this Azure Wheel, with one fell stroke,
Your shattered cup in flying fragments fling.

Dark Wheel! As inhumane as Great Ayaz,
Or Mighty Mahmud, thou hast slain, alas!
Thy myriads, Let us drink! Man’s single life
Is quickly ended, and—’tis all he has.

OF THINGS ETERNAL

From Earth’s deep heart to Saturn’s starry height
Isprang, and solved all problems in my flight;
I leapt out free from bonds offraud and lies,
And every knot—save Death’s—I severed, quite.

Above the spheres, my heart, on that first day,
Strove hard to find where Hell and Heaven lay;
Till that Right-thinking Master said, at last:
“Seek both within thyself—for there are they.”

Hell is the echoing cry of human grief,
And Heaven, the echoed sigh of pain’s relief,—
Borne round this Earth, whereon men live and die,
Content or hopeless, in some vague belief.

All things were fixed, long since; the resting pen,
For good or ill, will never move again;
Himself predestined all, long, long ago,
And useless are the grief and strife of men.

Of countless millions, passed beyond the veil,
Not one has e’er returned to tell the tale.
To need, not pray’r, that secret will be shown,
Without firm faith, petitions can but fail.

Deep in the centre of the circling sphere,
There waits a cup for all who sojourn here.
Drink ofit, gladly; ’twill be time to grink;
So murmur not when thine own end draws near,

I do not fear to die; I’d not forego
A better world, mayhap, than this below.
To Him who loaned it gladly I’ll return
This life; and what comes then no man can know.

(From Omar Kheiam)

(From Omar Kheiam). Gore Ouseley
In: Biographical notices of Persian poets. With critical and explanatory remarks by Gore Ouseley. London: Paris, Allen & Co. ; Duprat, 1846.
Potter 559

(From Omar Kheiam)

” I saw a potter in the market place, who
” incessantly stamped upon a piece of fresh clay
” that he might fashion it into a vessel, when
” the clay raised its voice and said, ‘I, too, was
” once a man like thee, therefore be gentle with me’.

” My inclination leads me constantly to the
” enjoyment of pure wine, my ears are always
” filled with the soft tones of the flute and harp.
” When turned to clay and fashioned into a jar
” by the potters, O that the jar be for ever
” filled with pure wine!”

‘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.