Archives

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.

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?