VIII

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.

IX

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.

X

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 Mahmúd on his Throne.

ΧΙ

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.

A

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 Famshyd and Kaikobád away.

X

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

Let Zál and Rustum bluster as they will,
Or Hátim call to Supper — heed not you

XI

With me along the strip of Herbage strewn
That just divides the desert from the sown,
Where name of Slave and Sultán 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!

'XII

"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!

XIII

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."

XIV

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.

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.

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,

66

66

Laughing," she says, "into the world I blow, "At once the silken tassel 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

was gone.

K

J

XVI

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.

XVII

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.

XVIII

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

XIX

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!