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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, and then impute my Fall to Sin!
Omar Khayyam -
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 heeds As the Sea's self should heed a pebble-cast.
Omar Khayyam
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Yon rising Moon that looks for us again - How oft hereafter will she wax and wane; How oft hereafter rising look for us Through this same Garden - and for one in vain!
Omar Khayyam -
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 -
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 answer - Oh, the sorry trade!
Omar Khayyam -
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 -
That ev'n my buried Ashes such a snare Of Vintage shall fling up into the Air As not a True-believer passing by But shall be overtaken unaware.
Omar Khayyam -
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.
Omar Khayyam
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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 whither flown again, who knows!
Omar Khayyam -
Said one among them - 'Surely not in vain My substance of the common Earth was ta'en And to this Figure moulded, to be broke, Or trampled back to shapeless Earth again'.
Omar Khayyam -
The Ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes, But Here or There as strikes the Player goes; And He that toss'd you down into the Field, He knows about it all - He knows - HE knows!
Omar Khayyam -
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 -
'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 I might recover by and by'.
Omar Khayyam -
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