Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam Part 12

V

Iram indeed is gone with all his Rose, And Jamshd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows; But still a Ruby kindles in the Vine, And many a Garden by the Water blows.

VI

And David's lips are lockt; but in divine High-piping Pehlevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!

Red Wine!"--the Nightingale cries to the Rose That sallow cheek of hers t' incarnadine.

VII

Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling: The Bird of Time has but a little way To flutter--and the Bird is on the Wing.

VIII

Whether at Naishapur or Babylon, Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run, The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop, The Leaves of Life keep falling one by one.

IX

Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say; Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?

And this first Summer month that brings the Rose Shall take Jamshd and Kaikobad away.

X

Well, let it take them! What have we to do With Kaikobad the Great, or Kaikhosru?

Let Zal and Rustum bl.u.s.ter as they will, Or Hatim call to Supper--heed not you.

XI

With me along the strip of Herbage strown That just divides the desert from the sown, Where name of Slave and Sultan is forgot-- And Peace to Mahmud on his golden Throne!

XII

A Book of Verses underneath the Bough, A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread--and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness-- Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!

XIII

Some for the Glories of This World; and some Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come; Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go, Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!

XIV

Look to the blowing Rose about us--"Lo, Laughing," she says, "into the world I blow, At once the silken ta.s.sel of my Purse Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."

XV

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.

XVI

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.

XVII

Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai Whose Portals are alternate Night and Day, How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp Abode his destined Hour, and went his way.

XVIII

They say the Lion and the Lizard keep The Courts where Jamshd gloried and drank deep: And Bahram, that great Hunter--the Wild a.s.s Stamps o'er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep.

XIX

I sometimes think that never blows so red The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled; That every Hyacinth the Garden wears Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head

XX

And this reviving Herb whose tender Green Fledges the River-Lip on which we lean-- Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!

XXI

Ah, my Beloved, 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.

XXII

For some we loved, the loveliest and the best That from his Vintage rolling Time hath prest, Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before, And one by one crept silently to rest.

XXIII

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?

XXIV