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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
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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
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But if in vain, down on the stubborn floor Of Earth, and up to Heav'n's unopening Door You gaze To-day, while You are You - how then To-morrow, You when shall be You no more?
Omar Khayyam
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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
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Alike for those who for To-day prepare, And those that after some To-morrow stare, A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries 'Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There'.
Omar Khayyam
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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
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Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say; Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?
Omar Khayyam
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Whereat some one of the loquacious Lot - I think a Sufi pipkin-waxing hot - 'All this of Pot and Potter - Tell me then, Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?'
Omar Khayyam
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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
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Then of the Thee in Me works behind The Veil, I lifted up my hands to find A Lamp amid the Darkness; and I heard, As from Without - 'The Me Within Thee Blind!'
Omar Khayyam
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And when like her, oh, Saki, you shall pass Among the Guests Star-scatter'd on the Grass, And in your joyous errand reach the spot Where I made One - turn down an empty Glass!
Omar Khayyam
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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 emerged from, shall so soon expire.
Omar Khayyam
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Living Life Tomorrow's fate, though thou be wise, Thou canst not tell nor yet surmise; Pass, therefore, not today in vain, For it will never come again.
Omar Khayyam
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A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou.
Omar Khayyam
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Whose secret Presence, through Creation's veins Running Quicksilver-like eludes your pains; Taking all shapes from Mah to Mahi; and They change and perish all - but He remains;
Omar Khayyam
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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, make haste!
Omar Khayyam
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The Vine had struck a fibre: which about If clings my being - let the Dervish flout; Of my Base metal may be filed a Key, That shall unlock the Door he howls without.
Omar Khayyam
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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.
Omar Khayyam
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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, Was never deep in anything but - Wine.
Omar Khayyam
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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 live Drink! - for, once dead, you never shall return'.
Omar Khayyam
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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 him In this clay carcase crippled to abide?
Omar Khayyam
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'Tis but a Tent where takes his one day's rest A Sultan to the realm of Death addrest; The Sultan rises, and the dark Ferrash Strikes, and prepares it for another Guest.
Omar Khayyam
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Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend, Before we too into the Dust descend; Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and - sans End!
Omar Khayyam
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'Why,' said another, 'Some there are who tell Of one who threatens he will toss to Hell The luckless Pots he marr'd in making - Pish! He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well'.
Omar Khayyam
