Omar Khayyam Quatrains

And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press, End in what All begins and ends in–Yes; Think then you are TO-DAY what YESTERDAY…

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…

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…

The Revelations of Devout and Learn’d Who rose before us, and as Prophets burn’d, Are all but Stories, which, awoke from Sleep They told their…

What, without asking, hither hurried Whence And, without asking, Whither hurried hence! Oh, many a Cup of this forbidden Wine Must drown the memory of…

Yet Ah, 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…

A Hair perhaps divides the False and True, Yes; and a single Alif were the clue– Could you but find it–to the Treasure-house, And peradventure…

And lately, by the Tavern Door agape, Came shining through the Dusk an Angel Shape Bearing a Vessel on his Shoulder; and He bid me…

Earth could not answer; nor the Seas that mourn In flowing Purple, of their Lord forlorn; Nor rolling Heaven, with all his Signs reveal’d And…

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…

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor…

When You and I behind the Veil are past, Oh, but the long, long while the World shall last, Which of our Coming and Departure…

You know, my Friends, with what a brave Carouse I made a Second Marriage in my house; Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed, And…

“Well,”. murmur’d one, “Let whoso make or buy, “My Clay with long Oblivion is gone dry: “But fill me with the old familiar Juice “Methinks…

And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky, Whereunder crawling coop’d we live and die, Lift not your hands to It for help–for It As…

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…

Oh Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make, And ev’n with Paradise devise the Snake: For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man…

Then said a Second–“Ne’er a peevish Boy “Would break the Bowl from which he drank in joy; “And He that with his hand the Vessel…

Whereat some one of the loquacious Lot– I think a Súfi pipkin–waxing hot– “All this of Pot and Potter–Tell me, then, “Who is the Potter,…

Would but the Desert of the Fountain yield One glimpse–if dimly, yet indeed, reveal’d, To which the fainting Traveller might spring, As springs the trampled…

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…

And not a drop that from our Cups we throw For Earth to drink of, but may steal below To quench the fire of Anguish…

For “IS” and “IS-NOT” though with Rule and Line And “UP-AND-DOWN” by Logic I define, Of all that one should care to fathom, I Was…

Look to the blowing Rose about us–“Lo, “Laughing,” she says, “into the world I blow, “At once the silken tassel of my Purse “Tear, and…

Then of the THEE IN ME who works behind The Veil, I lifted up my hands to find A lamp amid the Darkness; and I…

What! from his helpless Creature be repaid Pure Gold for what he lent him dross-allay’d— Sue for a Debt he never did contract, And cannot…

Ah, but my Computations, People say, Reduced the Year to better reckoning?–Nay, ‘Twas only striking from the Calendar Unborn To-morrow and dead Yesterday.

And much as Wine has play’d the Infidel, And robb’d me of my Robe of Honour–Well, I wonder often what the Vintners buy One half…

For I remember stopping by the way To watch a Potter thumping his wet Clay: And with its all-obliterated Tongue It murmur’d—“Gently, Brother, gently, pray!”

Oh threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise! One thing at least is certain–This Life flies; One thing is certain and the rest is Lies;…

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…

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…

After a momentary silence spake Some Vessel of a more ungainly Make; “They sneer at me for leaning all awry: “What! did the Hand then…

And this I know whether the one True Light Kindle to Love, or Wrath-consume me quite, One Flash of It within the Tavern caught Better…

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…

Oh Thou, who didst with pitfall and with gin Beset the Road I was to wander in, Thou wilt not with Predestined Evil round Enmesh,…

The mighty Mahmúd, Allah-breathing Lord, That all the misbelieving and black Horde Of Fears and Sorrows that infest the Soul Scatters before him with his…

Whose secret Presence, through Creation’s veins Running Quicksilver-like eludes your pains; Taking all shapes from Máh to Máhi; and They change and perish all but…

A Moment’s Halt–a momentary taste Of BEING from the Well amid the Waste– And LO!–the phantom Caravan has reach’d The NOTHING it set out from–Oh,…

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…

Heav’n but the Vision of fulfill’d Desire, And Hell the Shadow from a Soul on fire, Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves, So late…

So when that Angel of the darker Drink At last shall find you by the river-brink, And, offering his Cup, invite your Soul Forth to…

Then to the Lip of this poor earthen Urn I lean’d, the Secret of my Life to learn: And Lip to Lip it murmur’d–“While you…

Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss’d Of the Two Worlds so wisely–they are thrust Like foolish Prophets forth; their Words to Scorn Are…

Ah Love! could you and I with Him conspire To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire, Would not we shatter it to bits–and then…

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…

I sometimes think that never blows so red The Rose as where some buried Cæsar bled; That every Hyacinth the Garden wears Dropt in her…

Perplext no more with Human or Divine, To-morrow’s tangle to the winds resign, And lose your fingers in the tresses of The Cypress-slender Minister of…

They say the Lion and the Lizard keep The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep: And Bahrám, that great Hunter–the Wild Ass Stamps o’er…

Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside, And naked on the Air of Heaven ride, Were’t not a Shame–were’t not a Shame for…