THE RUBAIYAT OF OMAR KHAYYAM

by Edward FitzGerald

41

As then the Tulip for her morning sup

Of Heavenly Vintage lifts her chalice up

Do you, devoutly, do the like, till Heav’n

To Earth invert you like an empty cup.

42

Perplext no more with Human and Divine

Tomorrow’s tangle to the winds resign

And lose your fingers in the tresses of

The Cypress-slender Minister of Wine.

43

And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press

End in what All begins and ends in — Yes;

Think then you are TODAY what YESTERDAY

You were — TO-MORROW you shall not be less.

44

While the Rose blows along the River Brink,

With old Khayyam the Ruby Vintage drink

And when the Angel with his darker Draught

Draws up to Thee — take that and do not shrink.

45

Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside,

And naked on the Air of Heaven ride,

Wer’t not a Shame — wer’t not a Shame for him

In this clay carcase crippled to abide?

46

‘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.

47

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.

48

When you and I behind the Veil are past

O, 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.

49

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!

50

Would you that Spangle of Existence spend

About THE SECRET — quick about it, Friend!

A Hair perhaps divides the False and True —

And upon what, prithee, may life depend?