Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám
Translated by
Edward FitzGerald
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1 |
Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of Night |
Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight : |
And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught |
The Sultán's Turret in a Noose of Light. |
2 |
Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the Sky |
I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry, |
"Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup |
Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry." |
3 |
And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before |
The Tavern shouted - "Open then the Door! |
You know how little while we have to stay, |
And, once departed, may return no more." |
4 |
Now the New Year reviving old Desires, |
The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires, |
Where the WHITE HAND OF MOSES on the Bough |
Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires. |
5 |
Iram indeed is gone with all its Rose |
And Jamshýd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows; |
But still the Vine her ancient Ruby yields, |
And still a Garden by the Water blows. |
6 |
And David's Lips are lock't; but in divine |
High piping Pehleví, with "Wine! Wine! Wine! |
Red
Wine!" -
the Nightingale cries to the Rose |
That yellow Cheek of hers to incarnadine. |
7 |
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. |
8 |
And look a thousand Blossoms with the day |
Woke - and a thousand scatter'd into clay : |
And this first Summer Month that brings the Rose |
Shall take Jamshýd and Kaikobád away. |
9 |
But come with old Khayyám, and leave the Lot |
Of Kaikobád and Kaikhosrú forgot : |
Let Rustum lay about him as he will, |
Or Hátim Tai cry Supper - heed them not.
Top |
10 |
With me along some Strip of Herbage strown |
That just divides the desert from the sown, |
Where name of Slave and Sultán scarce is known, |
And pity Sultán Mahmud on his Throne. |
11 |
Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough, |
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse - and Thou |
Beside me singing in the Wilderness - |
And Wilderness is Paradise enow. |
12 |
"How sweet is mortal Sovranty!" - think some : |
Others - "How blest the Paradise to come!" |
Ah, take the Cash in hand and waive the Rest; |
Oh, the brave Music of a distant Drum! |
13 |
Look to the Rose that blows about us - "Lo, |
Laughing," she says, "into the World I blow : |
At once the silken Tassel of my Purse |
Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw." |
14 |
The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon |
Turns Ashes - or it prospers; and anon, |
Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face |
Lighting a Little Hour or two - is gone. |
15 |
And those who husbanded the Golden Grain, |
And those who flung it to the Winds like Rain, |
Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn'd |
As, buried once, Men want dug up again. |
16 |
Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai |
Whose Doorways are alternate Night and Day, |
How Sultán after Sultán with his Pomp |
Abode his Hour or two, and went his way. |
17 |
They say the Lion and the Lizard keep |
The Courts where Jamshýd gloried and drank deep; |
And Bahrám, that great Hunter - the Wild Ass |
Stamps o'er his Head, and he lies fast asleep. |
18 |
I sometimes think that never blows so red |
The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled; |
That every Hyacinth the Garden wears |
Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head. |
19 |
And this delightful Herb whose tender Green |
Fledges the River's Lip on which we lean - |
Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows |
From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen! |
20 |
Oh, my Belovéd, fill the Cup that clears |
TO-DAY of past Regrets and future Fears - |
To-morrow? -
Why, To-morrow I may be |
Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years. |
21 |
Lo! some we loved, the loveliest and best |
That Time and Fate of all their Vintage prest, |
Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before, |
And one by one crept silently to Rest. |
22 |
And we, that now make merry in the Room |
They left, and Summer dresses in new Bloom. |
Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth |
Descend, ourselves to make a Couch - for whom? |
23 |
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! |
24 |
Alike for those who for T0-DAY prepare, |
And those that after a TO-MORROW stare, |
A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries |
"Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There!" |
25 |
Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd |
Of the Two Worlds so learnedly, are thrust |
Like foolish Prophets forth; their Words to Scorn |
Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust. |
26 |
Oh, come with old Khayyám, and leave the Wise |
To talk; one thing is certain, that Life flies; |
One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies;
|
The Flower that once
has blown for ever dies. |
27 |
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. |
28 |
With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow, |
And with my own hand labour'd it to grow : |
And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd - |
I came like Water, and like Wind I go." |
29 |
Into this Universe, and why not knowing, |
Nor whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing : |
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste, |
I know not whither, willy-nilly blowing. |
30 |
What, without asking, hither hurried whence ? |
And, without asking, whither hurried hence! |
Another and another Cup to drown |
The Memory of this Impertinence! |
31 |
Up from Earth's Centre through the Seventh Gate |
I rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate, |
And many Knots unravel'd by the Road ; |
But not the Knot of Human Death and Fate. |
32 |
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 ME and THEE |
There seem'd - and then no more of THEE and ME. |
33 |
Then to the rolling Heav'n itself I cried, |
Asking, "What Lamp had Destiny to guide |
Her little Children stumbling in the Dark?" |
And - "A blind Understanding!" Heav'n replied. |
34 |
Then to this earthen Bowl did I adjourn |
My Lip the secret Well of Life to learn : |
And Lip to Lip it murmur'd - "While you live |
Drink! - for once dead you never shall return." |
35 |
I think the Vessel, that with fugitive |
Articulation answer'd, once did live, |
And merry-make; and the cold Lip I kiss'd |
How many Kisses might it take - and give! |
36 |
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!" |
37 |
Ah, fill the Cup : - what boots it to repeat |
How Time is slipping underneath our Feet : |
Unborn TO-MORROW, and dead YESTERDAY, |
Why fret about them if TO-DAY be sweet! |
38 |
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 ! |
39 |
How long, how long, in infinite Pursuit |
Of This and That endeavour and dispute ? |
Better be merry with the fruitful Grape |
Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit. |
40 |
You know, my Friends, how long since in my House |
For a new Marriage I did make Carouse : |
Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed, |
And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse. |
41 |
For "Is" and "Is-NOT" 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. |
42 |
And lately, by the Tavern Door agape, |
Came stealing through the Dusk an Angel Shape |
Bearing a Vessel on his Shoulder; and |
He bid me taste of it ; and 'twas - the Grape ! |
43 |
The Grape that can with Logic absolute |
The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute : |
The subtle Alchemist that in a Trice |
Life's leaden Metal into Gold transmute. |
44 |
The mighty Mahmud, the victorious Lord, |
That all the misbelieving and black Horde |
Of Fears and Sorrows that infest the Soul |
Scatter and slays with his enchanted Sword. |
45 |
But leave the Wise to wrangle, and with me |
The quarrel of the Universe let be : |
And, in some corner of the Hubbub coucht, |
Make Game of that which makes as much of Thee. |
46 |
For in and out, above, about, below, |
'Tis nothing but a Magic Shadowshow, |
Play'd in a Box whose Candle is the Sun, |
Round which we Phantom Figures come and go. |
47 |
And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press, |
End in the Nothing all Things end in - Yes - |
Then fancy while Thou art, Thou art but what |
Thou shalt be - Nothing - Thou shalt not be less. |
48 |
While the Rose blows along the River Brink, |
With old Khayyám the Ruby Vintage drink : |
And when the Angel with his darker Draught |
Draws up to Thee - take that, and do not shrink. |
49 |
'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. |
50 |
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 - He knows - HE knows! |
51 |
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. |
52 |
And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky, |
Whereunder crawling coopt we live and die, |
Lift not thy hands to It for help - for It |
Rolls impotently on as Thou or I. |
53 |
With Earth's first Clay They did the Last Man's knead, |
And then of the Last Harvest sow'd the Seed : |
Yea, the first Morning of Creation wrote |
What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read. |
54 |
I tell Thee this - When, starting from the Goal, |
Over the Shoulders of the flaming Foal |
Of Heav'n Parwín and Mushtara they flung, |
In my predestin'd Plot of Dust and Soul. |
55 |
The Vine had struck a Fibre ; which about |
If clings my Being - let the Sufi flout ; |
Of my Base Metal may be filed a Key, |
That shall unlock the Door he howls without. |
56 |
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. |
57 |
Oh Thou, who didst with Pitfall and with Gin |
Beset the Road I was to wander it, |
Thou wilt not with Predestination round |
Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin ? |
58 |
Oh, Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make, |
And who with Eden didst devise the Snake ; |
For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man |
Is blacken'd, Man's Forgiveness give - and take!
|
KUZA-NAMA |
59 |
Listen again. One evening at the close |
Of Ramazán, ere the better Moon arose, |
In that old Potter's Shop, I stood alone |
With the clay Population round in Rows. |
60 |
And, strange to tell, among the Earthen Lot |
Some could articulate, while others not : |
And suddenly one more impatient cried - |
"Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?" |
61 |
Then said another - "Surely not in vain |
My substance from the common Earth was ta'en, |
That He who subtly wrought me into Shape |
Should stamp me back to common Earth again." |
62 |
Another said - "Why, ne'er a peevish Boy |
Would break the Bowl from which he drank in Joy ; |
Shall He that made the Vessel in pure Love |
And Fancy, in an after Rage destroy!" |
63 |
None answer'd this ; but after Silence spake |
A Vessel of a more ungainly Make : |
"They sneer at me for leaning all awry ; |
What! Did the Hand then of the Potter shake ?" |
64 |
Said one - "Folks of a surly Tapster tell, |
And daub his Visage with the Smoke of Hell ; |
They talk of some strict Testing of us - Pish! |
He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well." |
65 |
Then said another with a long-drawn Sigh |
"My Clay with long oblivion is gone dry : |
But, fill me with the old familiar Juice, |
Methinks I might recover by-and-bye!" |
66 |
So, while the Vessels one by one were speaking, |
One spied the little Crescent all were seeking : |
And then they jogg'd each other, "Brother! Brother! |
Hark to the Porter's Shoulder-knot a-creaking!" |
67 |
Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide, |
And wash my Body whence the Life has died, |
And in a Windingsheet of Vine-leaf wrapt, |
So bury me by some sweet Garden-side. |
69 |
That ev'n my buried Ashes such a Snare |
Of Perfume shall fling up into the Air, |
As not a True Believer passing by |
But shall be overtaken unaware. |
69 |
Indeed the Idols I have loved so long |
Have done my Credit in Men's Eye much wrong : |
Have drown'd my Honour in a shallow Cup, |
And sold my Reputation for a Song. |
70 |
Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before |
I swore - but was I sober when I swore ? |
And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand |
My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore. |
71 |
And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel, |
And robb'd me of my Robe of Honour - well, |
I often wonder what the Vintners buy |
One half so precious as the Goods they sell. |
72 |
Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose! |
That Youth's sweet-scented Manuscript should close! |
The Nightingale that in the Branches sang, |
Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows! |
73 |
Ah Love! could thou and I with Fate conspire |
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire, |
Would not we shatter it to bits - and then |
Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire! |
74 |
Ah, Moon of my Delight who know'st no wane, |
The Moon of Heav'n is rising once again : |
How oft hereafter rising shall she look |
Through this same Garden after me - in vain! |
75 |
And when Thyself with shining Foot shall pass |
Among the Guests Star-scatter'd on the Grass, |
And in thy joyous Errand reach the Spot |
Where I made one-turn down an empty Glass!
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TAMÁM SHUD
Edward FitzGerald | Classic
Poems |