Wednesday, July 06, 2005

from "the Rubaiyyat" by Omar Khayyam

Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To fly- and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.

Ah, my beloved, fill the Cup that clears
Today of past Regrets and future fears-
Tomorrow?- Why Tomorrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years.

Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
Before we too into the Dust descend;
Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie,
Sans wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and - sans End!

Alike for those who for Today prepare,
And those that after a Tomorrow stare,
A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries
'Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There!'

Oh, come with old Khayyam, and leave the Wise
To talk; one thing is for certain, that Life flies;
One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies;
The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.

Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Doctor and Saint, and heard great Argument
About it and about ; but evermore
Came out by the same Door as in I went.


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