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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.
Omar Khayyam -
Indeed the Idols I have loved so long Have done my credit in this World much wrong: Have drown'd my Glory in a shallow Cup And sold my Reputation for a Song.
Omar Khayyam
-
Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide, And wash the Body whence the Life has died, And lay me, shrouded in the living Leaf, By some not unfrequented Garden-side.
Omar Khayyam -
As under cover of departing Day Slunk hunger-stricken Ramazan away, Once more within the Potter's house alone I stood, surrounded by the Shapes of Clay.
Omar Khayyam -
We are no other than a moving row Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go Round with the Sun-illumined Lantern held In Midnight by the Master of the Show;
Omar Khayyam -
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'.
Omar Khayyam -
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?'
Omar Khayyam -
Ah, my Belov'ed fill the Cup that clears To-day Past Regrets and Future Fears: To-morrow! - Why, To-morrow I may be Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years.
Omar Khayyam
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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.
Omar Khayyam -
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 impotently moves as you or I.
Omar Khayyam -
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.
Omar Khayyam -
You know, my friends, with what a brave carouse I made a Second Marriage in my house; favored old barren reason from my bed, and took the daughter of the vine to spouse.
Omar Khayyam -
Wake! For the Sun, who scatter'd into flightThe Stars before him from the Field of Night,Drives Night along with them from Heav'n, and strikesThe Sultan's Turret with a Shaft of Light.
Omar Khayyam -
Shapes of all Sorts and Sizes, great and small, That stood along the floor and by the wall; And some loquacious Vessels were; and some Listen'd perhaps, but never talk'd at all.
Omar Khayyam
-
And fear not lest Existence closing your Account, and mine, should know the like no more; The Eternal Saki from that Bowl has pour'd Millions of Bubbles like us, and will pour.
Omar Khayyam -
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.
Omar Khayyam -
Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say; Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?
Omar Khayyam -
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!
Omar Khayyam -
I sent my Soul through the Invisible, Some letter of that After-life to spell: And by and by my Soul return'd to me, And answer'd 'I Myself am Heav'n and Hell:'
Omar Khayyam -
The mighty Mahmud, Allah-breathing Lord That all the misbelieving and black Horde Of Fears and Sorrows that infest the Soul Scatters before him with his whirlwind Sword.
Omar Khayyam
-
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 to The Master too;
Omar Khayyam -
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 comrades, and to Sleep return'd.
Omar Khayyam -
Whoever thinks algebra is a trick in obtaining unknowns has thought it in vain. No attention should be paid to the fact that algebra and geometry are different in appearance. Algebras (jabbre and maqabeleh) are geometric facts which are proved by propositions five and six of Book two of Elements.
Omar Khayyam -
The Grape that can with Logic absolute The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute: The sovereign Alchemist that in a trice Life's leaden metal into Gold transmute:
Omar Khayyam