RUBÁLYÁT

OF

OMAR KHAYYÁM OF NAISHÁPÚR.

示

K

I

WAKE! for Morning in the Bowl of Night

AWA

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.

II

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."

III

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."

IV

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.

I

WAKE! For the Sun who scatter'd into flight
The Stars before him from the Field of Night,
Drives Night along with them from Heav'n, and strikes
The Sultan's Turret with a Shaft of Light.

Before the phantom of False morning died, Methought a Voice within the Tavern cried, "When all the Temple is prepared within, "Why nods the drowsy Worshipper outside?"

III

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."

IV

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.

V

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.

VI

And David's Lips are lock't; but in divine
High piping Pehlevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!
"Red Wine!"-the Nightingale cries to the Rose
That yellow Cheek of her's to'incarnadine.

VII

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.

K

V

Iram indeed is gone with all his Rose,

And Famshyd'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 to' 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 Naishápúr 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.