Edward Fitzgerald
¶[1809-1883]
Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam of Na Is Hap Ur
¶WAKE ! For the Sun behind yon Eastern heightHas chased the Session of the Stars from Night;And to the field of Heav'n ascending, strikesThe Sultan's Turret with a Shaft of Light.
¶11
¶Before the phantom of False morning died,Methought a Voice within the Tavern cried,"When all the Temple is prepared within,Why lags the drowsy Worshipper outside?"
in
¶And, as the Cock crew, those who stood beforeThe Tavern shouted—"Open then the Door!You know how little while we have to stay,And, once departed, may return no more."
IV
¶Where the WHITE HAND OF MOSES on the Bough
¶Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.
¶vIram indeed is gone with all his Rose,And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;But still a Ruby gushes from the Vine,And many a Garden by the Water blows.
VI
¶And David's lips are lockt; but in divineHigh-piping Pehlevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!Red Wine!"—the Nightingale cries to the RoseThat sallow cheek of hers to incarnadine.
VII
¶Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of SpringYour Winter-garment of Repentance fling:The Bird of Time has but a little wayTo flutter—and the Bird is on the Wing.
VIII
¶Whether at Naishapur or Babylon,Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run,The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop,The Leaves of Life keep falling one by one.
IX
¶Morning a thousand Roses brings, you say;Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday ?And this first Summer month that brings the RoseShall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.
¶xWell, let it take them! What have we to doWith Kaikobad the Great, or Kaikhosru ?Let Rustum cry "To Battle!" as he likes,Or Hatim Tai "To supper!"—heed not you.
XI
¶With me along the strip of Herbage strowriThat just divides the desert from the sown,Where name of Slave and Sultan is forgot—And Peace to Mahmud on his golden Throne!
XII
¶Here with a little Bread beneath the Bough,A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse—and ThouBeside me singing in the Wilderness—Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!
XIII
¶Some for the Glories of This World; and someSigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come;[945]Ah, take the Cash, and let the Promise go,Nor heed the music of a distant Druml
¶XIV
¶Were it not Folly, Spider-like to spinThe Thread of present Life away to win—What ? for ourselves, who know not if we shallBreathe out the very Breath we now breathe in!
¶xvLook to the blowing Rose about us—"Lo,Laughing," she says, "into the world I blow,At once the silken tassel of my PurseTear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."
¶xviFor those who husbanded the Golden grain,And those who flung it to the winds like Rain,Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn'dAs, buried once, Men want dug up again.
XVII
¶The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts uponTurns Ashes—or it prospers; and anon,Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face,Lighting a little hour or two—was gone.
¶xvinThink, in this batter'd CaravanseraiWhose Portals are alternate Night and Day,How Sultan after Sultan with his PompAbode his destined Hour, and went his way.
¶XIX
¶They say the Lion and the Lizard keepThe Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep:And Bahram, that great Hunter—the Wild AssStamps o'er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep.[946]xxThe Palace that to Heav'n his pillars threw,And Kings the forehead on his threshold drew—I saw the solitary Ringdove there,And "Coo, coo, coo," she cried; and "Coo, coo, coo."
XXI
¶Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clearsT O - DAY of past Regret and Future Fears:To-morrow!—Why, To-morrow I may beMyself with Yesterday's Sev'n thousand Years.
XXII
¶For some we loved, the loveliest and the bestThat from his Vintage rolling Time has prest,Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,And one by one crept silently to rest.
XXIII
¶And we, that now make merry in the RoomThey left, and Summer dresses in new bloom,Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of EarthDescend—ourselves to make a Couch—for whom?
XXIV
¶I sometimes think that never blows so redThe Rose as where some buried Caesar bled;That every Hyacinth the Garden wearsDropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head.
¶xxvAnd this delightful Herb whose living GreenFledges the River's Lip on which we lean—Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knowsFrom what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!
XXVI
¶Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,Before we too into the Dust descend;Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lieSans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and—sans End!
XXVII
¶Alike for those who for T O - DAY prepare,
¶And those that after some T O - MORROW stare,
XXVIII
¶Another Voice, when I am sleeping, cries,"The Flower should open with the Morning skies."And a retreating Whisper, as I wake—"The Flower that once has blown for ever dies."
XXIX
¶Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'dOf the Two Worlds so learnedly are thrustLike foolish Prophets forth; their Words to ScornAre scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.
XXX
¶Myself when young did eagerly frequentDoctor and Saint, and heard great argumentAbout it and about: but evermoreCame out by the same door as in I went.
XXXI
¶With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow,And with my own hand wrought to make it grow;And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd—"I came like Water, and like Wind I go."
XXXII
¶Into this Universe, and Why not knowingNor Whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing;And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,I know not Whither, willy-nilly blowing.
XXXIII
¶What, without asking, hither hurried Whence?And, without asking, Whither hurried hence!Ah, contrite Heav'n endowed us with the VineTo drug the memory of that insolence!
XXXIV
¶Up from Earth's Centre through the Seventh GateI rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate;And many Knots unravel'd by the Road;But not the Master-knot of Human Fate.
¶xxxvThere was the Door to which I found no Key:There was the Veil through which I could not see:Some little talk awhile of ME and THEEThere was—and then no more of THEE and M E .
¶xxxvi
¶Earth could not answer; nor the Seas that mournIn flowing Purple, of their Lord forlorn;Nor Heaven, with those eternal Signs reveal'dAnd hidden by the sleeve of Night and Morn.
¶xxxv n
¶Then of the THEE IN ME who works behindThe Veil of Universe I cried to findA Lamp to guide me through the Darkness; andSomething then said—"An Understanding blind."
Xxxviii
¶Then to the Lip of this poor earthen UrnI lean'd, the secret Well of Life to learn:And Lip to Lip it murmur'd—"While you live,Drink!—for, once dead, you never shall return."
¶xxxix
¶I think the Vessel, that with fugitiveArticulation answer'd, once did live,And drink; and that impassive Lip I kiss'd,How many Kisses might it take—and give!
XL
¶For I remember stopping by the wayTo watch a Potter thumping his wet Clay:And with its all-obliterated TongueIt murmur'd—"Gendy, Brother, gently, pray!"
XLI
¶For has not such a Story from of OldDown Man's successive generations roll'dOf such a clod of saturated EarthCast by the Maker into Human mould?
XLII
¶And not a drop that from our Cups we throwOn the parcht herbage, but may steal belowTo quench the fire of Anguish in some EyeThere hidden—far beneath, and long ago.
XLIII
¶As then the Tulip for her wonted supOf Heavenly Vintage lifts her chalice up,Do you, twin offspring of the soil, till Heav'nTo Earth invert you like an empty Cup.
XLIV
¶Do you, within your little hour of Grace,The waving Cypress in your Arms enlace,Before the Mother back into her armsFold, and dissolve you in a last embrace.
XLV
¶And if the Cup you drink, the Lip you press,End in what All begins and ends in—Yes;Imagine then you are what heretoforeYou were—hereafter you shall not be less.
XLVI
¶So when at last the Angel of the DrinkOf Darkness finds you by the river-brink,And, proffering his Cup, invites your SoulForth to your Lips to quaff it—do not shrink.
XLVII
¶And fear not lest Existence closing yourAccount, should lose, or know the type no more;The Eternal Sakl from that Bowl has pour'dMillions of Bubbles like us, and will pour.
XLVIII
¶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 heedsAs much as Ocean of a pebble-cast.
XLIX
¶One Moment in Annihilation's Waste,One Moment, of the Well of Life to taste—The Stars are setting, and the CaravanDraws to the Dawn of Nothing—Oh make haste.
L
¶Would you that spangle of Existence spendAbout THE SECRET—quick about it, Friend!A Hair, they say, divides the False and True—And upon what, prithee, does Life depend?
LI
¶A Hair, they say, 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;
LII
¶Whose secret Presence, through Creation's veinsRunning, Quicksilver-like eludes your pains;Taking all shapes from Mah to Mahi; andThey change and perish all—but He remains;
LIII
¶A moment guess'd—then back behind the FoldImmerst of Darkness round the Drama roll'dWhich, for the Pastime of Eternity,He does Himself contrive, enact, behold.
LIV
¶But if in vain, down on the stubborn floorOf Earth, and up to Heav'n's unopening Door,You gaze T O - DAY , while You are You—how then
¶T O - MORROW , You when shall be You no more?[951]LVOh, plagued no more with Human or Divine,To-morrow's tangle to itself resign,And lose your fingers in the tresses ofThe Cypress-slender Minister of Wine.
¶LVI
¶Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuitOf This and That endeavour and dispute;Better be merry with the fruitful GrapeThan sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.
¶LvnYou know, my Friends, how bravely in my HouseFor a new Marriage I did make Carouse;Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed,And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse.
LVIII
¶For "Is" and " I S - NOT " though with Rule and Line
¶And " U P - AND - DOWN " by Logic I define,
LIX
¶Ah, but my Computations, People say,Have squared the Year to human compass, eh?If so, by striking from the CalendarUnborn To-morrow, and dead Yesterday.
¶L X
¶And lately, by the Tavern Door agape,Came shining through the Dusk an Angel ShapeBearing a Vessel on his Shoulder; andHe bid me taste of it; and 'twas—the Grape!
LXI
¶The Grape that can with Logic absoluteThe Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute:The sovereign Alchemist that in a triceLife's leaden metal into Gold transmute:
LXII
¶The mighty Mahmiid, Allah-breathing Lord,That all the misbelieving and black HordeOf Fears and Sorrows that infest the SoulScatters before him with his whirlwind Sword.
LXIII
¶Why, be this Juice the growth of God, who dareBlaspheme the twisted tendril as a Snare?A Blessing, we should use it, should we not?And if a Curse—why, then, Who set it there?
LXIV
¶I must abjure the Balm of Life, I must,Scared by some After-reckoning ta'en on trust,Or lured with Hope of some Diviner Drink,When the frail Cup is crumbled into Dust!
LXV
¶If but the Vine and Love-abjuring BandAre in the Prophet's Paradise to stand,Alack, I doubt the Prophet's ParadiseWere empty as the hollow of one's Hand.
LXVI
¶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 Flower that once is blown for ever dies.
LXVII
¶Strange, is it not? that of the myriads whoBefore us pass'd the door of Darkness through,Not one returns to tell us of the Road,Which to discover we must travel too.
LXVIII
¶The Revelations of Devout and Learn'dWho rose before us, and as Prophets burn'd,Are all but Stories, which, awoke from SleepThey told their fellows, and to Sleep return'd.
LXIX
¶Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside,And naked on the Air of Heaven ride,Is't not a Shame—is't not a Shame for himSo long in this Clay Suburb to abide?
¶LXX
¶But that is but a Tent wherein may restA Sultan to the realm of Death addrest;The Sultan rises, and the dark FerrashStrikes, and prepares it for another Guest.
LXXI
¶I sent my Soul through the Invisible,Some letter of that After-life to spell:And after many days my Soul return'd,And said, "Behold, Myself am Heav'n and Hell:"
LXXII
¶Heav'n but the Vision of fulfill'd Desire,And Hell the Shadow of a Soul on fire,Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves,So late emerged from, shall so soon expire.
LXXIII
¶We are no other than a moving rowOf visionary Shapes that come and goRound with this Sun-illumin'd Lantern heldIn Midnight by the Master of the Show;
LXXIV
¶Impotent Pieces of the Game He playsUpon this Chequer-board of Nights and Days;Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays,And one by one back in the Closet lays.
LXXV
¶The Ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes,But Right or Left as strikes the Player goes;And He that toss'd you down into the Field,He knows about it all—HE knows—HE knows!
LXXVI
¶The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,Moves on: nor all your Piety nor WitShall lure it back to cancel half a Line,Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.
LXXVII
¶For let Philosopher and Doctor preachOf what they will, and what they will not—eachIs but one Link in an eternal ChainThat none can slip, nor break, nor over-reach.
Lxxviii
¶And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky,Whereunder crawling coop'd we live and die,Lift not your hands to // for help—for ItAs impotently rolls as you or I.
LXXIX
¶With Earth's first Clay They did the Last Man knead,And there of the Last Harvest sow'd the Seed:And the first Morning of Creation wroteWhat the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.
LXXX
LXXXI
¶I tell you this—When, started from the Goal,Over the flaming shoulders of the FoalOf Heav'n Parwin and Mushtari they flung,In my predestined Plot of Dust and Soul.
LXXXII
¶The Vine had struck a fibre: which aboutIf clings my being—let the Dervish flout;Of my Base metal may be filed a Key,That shall unlock the Door he howls without.
L XXXIII
¶And this I know: whether the one True LightKindle to Love, or Wrath-consume me quite,One Flash of It within the Tavern caughtBetter than in the Temple lost outright.
LXXXIV
¶What! out of senseless Nothing to provokeA conscious Something to resent the yokeOf unpermitted Pleasure, under painOf Everlasting Penalties, if broke!
LXXXV
¶What! from his helpless Creature be repaidPure Gold for what he lent us dross-allay'dSue for a Debt we never did contract,And cannot answer—Oh the sorry trade!
LXXXVI
¶Nay, but, for terror of his wrathful Face,I swear I will not call Injustice Grace;Not one Good Fellow of the Tavern butWould kick so poor a Coward from the place.
Lxxxvii
¶Oh Thou, who didst with pitfall and with ginBeset the Road I was to wander in,Thou wilt not with Predestined Evil roundEnmesh, and then impute my Fall to Sin!
Lxxxviii
¶Oh, Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make,And ev'n with Paradise devise the Snake:For all the Sin the Face of wretched ManIs black with—Man's Forgiveness give—and tal* # * *
LXXXIX
¶As under cover of departing DaySlunk hunger-stricken Ramazan away,Once more within the Potter's house aloneI stood, surrounded by the Shapes of Clay.[956]xcAnd once again there gather'd a scarce heardWhisper among them; as it were, the stirr'dAshes of some all but extinguisht Tongue,Which mine ear kindled into living Word.
¶xciSaid one among them—"Surely not in vainMy substance from the common Earth was ta'enThat he who subtly wrought me into ShapeShould stamp me back to shapeless Earth again?"
¶xcnAnother said—"Why, ne'er a peevish BoyWould break the Cup from which he drank in Joy;Shall He that of His own free Fancy madeThe Vessel, in an after-rage destroy!"xcmNone answer'd this; but after silence spakeSome Vessel of a more ungainly Make;"They sneer at me for leaning all awry:What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?"
¶xcivThus with the Dead as with the Living, What?And Why? so ready, but the Wherejor not,One on a sudden peevishly exclaim'd,"Which is the Potter, pray, and which the Pot?"
¶xcvSaid one—"Folks of a surly Master tell,And daub his Visage with the Smoke of Hell;They talk of some sharp Trial of us—Pish!He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well."
¶xcvi"Well," said another, "Whoso will, let try,My Clay with long Oblivion is gone dry:But fill me with the old familiar Juice,Methinks I might recover by and by."
XCVII
¶So while the Vessels one by one were speaking,One spied the little Crescent all were seeking:And then they jogg'd each other, "Brother! Brother!Now for the Porter's shoulder-knot a-creaking!"* # # #
XCVIII
¶Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide,And wash my Body whence the Life has died,And lay me, shrouded in the living Leaf,By some not unfrequented Garden-side.
¶xcixWhither resorting from the vernal HeatShall Old Acquaintance Old Acquaintance greet,Under the Branch that leans above the WallTo shed his Blossom over head and feet.cThen ev'n my buried Ashes such a snareOf Vintage shall fling up into the AirAs not a True-believer passing byBut shall be overtaken unaware.ciIndeed the Idols I have loved so longHave done my credit in Men's eyes much wrong:Have drown'd my Glory in a shallow CupAnd sold my Reputation for a Song.
¶enIndeed, indeed, Repentance oft beforeI swore—but was I sober when I swore?And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-handMy thread-bare Penitence apieces tore.cmAnd much as Wine has play'd the Infidel,And robb'd me of my Robe of Honour—Well,I often wonder what the Vintners buyOne half so precious as the ware they sell.
CIV
¶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!
¶cvWould but the Desert of the Fountain yieldOne glimpse—if dimly, yet indeed, reveal'd,Toward which the fainting Traveller might spring,As springs the trampled herbage of the field!
¶cviOh if the World were but to re-create,That we might catch ere closed the Book of Fate,And make The Writer on a fairer leafInscribe our names, or quite obliterate!
¶cvnBetter, oh better, cancel from the ScrollOf Universe one luckless Human Soul,Than drop by drop enlarge the Flood that rollsHoarser with Anguish as the Ages roll.
Cvih
¶Ah Love! could you and I with Fate conspireTo grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,Would not we shatter it to bits—and thenRe-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!
¶cixBut see! The rising Moon of Heav'n againLooks for us, Sweet-heart, through the quivering Plane:How oft hereafter rising will she lookAmong those leaves—for one of us in vain!
¶exAnd when Yourself with silver Foot shall passAmong the Guests Star-scatter'd on the Grass,And in your joyous errand reach the spotWhere I made One—turn down an empty Glass!