Omar Khayyám

"What, without asking, hither hurried whence? And, without asking, whither hurried hence! Another and another Cup to drown The Memory of this Impertinence!"

"Oh, many a Cup of this forbidden Wine Must drown the memory of that insolence!"

"Up from Earth's Centre through the Seventh Gate rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate; And many a Knot unravel'd by the Road; But not the Master-knot of Human Fate."

"There was a Door to which I found no Key: There was a Veil past which I could not see: Some little Talk awhile of and There seemed — and then no more of and ."

"There was the Door to which I found no Key; There was the Veil through which I might not see: Some little talk awhile of and There was — and then no more of and ."

"Then of the works behind The Veil, I lifted up my hands to find A Lamp amid the Darkness; and I heard, As from Without — "!""

"Then to the lip of this poor earthen Urn I lean'd, the Secret of my Life to learn: And Lip to Lip it murmur'd — "While you live Drink! — for, once dead, you never shall return.""

"For in the Market-place, one Dusk of Day, I watch'd the Potter thumping his wet Clay: And with its all obliterated Tongue It murmur'd—"Gently, Brother, gently, pray!""

"Ah, fill the Cup: — what boots it to repeat How Time is slipping underneath our Feet: Unborn and dead , Why fret about them if be sweet!"

"One Moment in Annihilation's Waste, One moment, of the Well of Life to taste — The Stars are setting, and the Caravan Starts for the dawn of Nothing — Oh, make haste!"

"For "" and "" though with Rule and Line, And, "Up-and-down" without, I could define, I yet in all I only cared to know, Was never deep in anything but — Wine."

"Perplext no more with Human or Divine, To-morrow's tangle to the winds resign, And lose your fingers in the tresses of The Cypress — slender Minister of Wine."

"And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press End in what All begins and ends in — Yes; Think then you are To-day what Yesterday You were — To-morrow You shall not be less."

"The Grape that can with Logic absolute The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute."

"Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside, And naked on the Air of Heaven ride, Were't not a Shame — were't not a Shame for him In this clay carcase crippled to abide?"

"'Tis but a Tent where takes his one day's rest A Sultan to the realm of Death addrest; The Sultan rises, and the dark Ferrash Strikes, and prepares it for another Guest."

"And fear not lest Existence closing your Account, and mine, should know the like no more; The Eternal Saki from that Bowl has pour'd Millions of Bubbles like us, and will pour."

"When You and I behind the Veil are past, Oh, but the long, long while the World shall last, Which of our Coming and Departure heeds As the Sea's self should heed a pebble-cast."

"A Moment's Halt — a momentary taste Of from the Well amid the Waste — And Lo! — the phantom Caravan has reach'd The it set out from — Oh, make haste!"

"'Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays: Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays, And one by one back in the Closet lays."

"But helpless Pieces of the Game He plays Upon this Chequer-board of Nights and Days; Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays, And one by one back in the Closet lays."

"Would you that spangle of Existence spend About the Secret — Quick about it, Friend! A Hair perhaps divides the False and True — And upon what, prithee, may life depend?"

"A Hair perhaps divides the False and True; Yes; and a single Alif were the clue — Could you but find it — to the Treasure-house, And peradventure to The Master too."

"Whose secret Presence, through Creation's veins Running Quicksilver-like eludes your pains; Taking all shapes from Mah to Mahi; and They change and perish all — but He remains."

"A moment guess'd — then back behind the Fold Immerst of Darkness round the Drama roll'd Which, for the Pastime of Eternity, He doth Himself contrive, enact, behold."

"But if in vain, down on the stubborn floor Of Earth, and up to Heav'n's unopening Door You gaze To-day, while You are You — how then To-morrow, You when shall be You no more?"

"Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuit Of This and That endeavour and dispute; Better be jocund with the fruitful Grape Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit."

"You know, my Friends, with what a brave Carouse I made a Second Marriage in my house; Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse."

"Ah, but my Computations, People say, Reduced the Year to better reckoning? — Nay 'Twas only striking from the Calendar Unborn To-morrow, and dead Yesterday."

"And lately, by the Tavern Door agape, Came shining through the Dusk an Angel Shape Bearing a Vessel on his Shoulder; and He bid me taste of it; and 'twas — the Grape!"

"The mighty Mahmud, Allah-breathing Lord That all the misbelieving and black Horde Of Fears and Sorrows that infest the Soul Scatters before him with his whirlwind Sword."

"Why, be this Juice the growth of God, who dare Blaspheme the twisted tendril as a Snare? A Blessing, we should use it, should we not? And if a Curse — why, then, Who set it there?"

"I must abjure the Balm of Life, I must, Scared by some After-reckoning ta'en on trust, Or lured with Hope of some Diviner Drink, To fill the Cup — when crumbled into Dust!"

"Oh, threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise! One thing at least is certain — This Life flies; One thing is certain and the rest is Lies; The Flower that once has blown for ever dies."

"Strange, is it not? that of the myriads who Before us pass'd the door of Darkness through, Not one returns to tell us of the Road, Which to discover we must travel too."

"The Revelations of Devout and Learn'd Who rose before us, and as Prophets burn'd, Are all but Stories, which, awoke from Sleep, They told their comrades, and to Sleep return'd."

"I sent my Soul through the Invisible, Some letter of that After-life to spell: And by and by my Soul return'd to me, And answer'd "I Myself am Heav'n and Hell.""

"Heav'n but the Vision of fulfill'd Desire, And Hell the Shadow from a Soul on fire, Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves, So late emerged from, shall so soon expire."

"We are no other than a moving row Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go Round with the Sun-illumined Lantern held In Midnight by the Master of the Show;"

"The Ball no Question makes of Ayes and Noes, But Right or Left as strikes the Player goes; And He that toss'd Thee down into the Field, He knows about it all — knows — HE knows!"

"But Here or There as strikes the Player goes."

"The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it."

"And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky, Whereunder crawling coop't we live and die, Lift not thy hands to It for help — for It Rolls impotently on as Thou or I."

"And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky."

"As impotently moves as you or I."

"And this I know: whether the one True Light, Kindle to Love, or Wrath consume me quite, One Glimpse of It within the Tavern caught Better than in the Temple lost outright."

"One Flash of It within the Tavern caught."

"Oh Thou who didst with Pitfall and with Gin Beset the Road I was to wander in, Thou wilt not with Predestination round Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin?"

"Thou wilt not with Predestined Evil round Enmesh, and then impute my Fall to Sin!"

"With Earth's first Clay They did the Last Man knead, And there of the Last Harvest sow'd the Seed: And the first Morning of Creation wrote What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read."