Rubaiyat
of
Omar Khayyam of Naishapur
1
Wake! for morning breaks, and rends the robe of night;
Why sorrow? Rise and quaff the draught of dawn aright;
Drain thou the wine, sweetheart, for many a mourn shall break,
And turn her eyes to ours, and ours be lorn of light.
Nathan, Haskell, Dole
2
At dawn a cry through all the tavern shrilled,
"Arise my brethren of the revellers' guild,
That I may fill our measures full of wine
Or e'er the measure of our days be filled."
Whinfield 1883
3
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."
FitzGerald
4
Now the New Year reviving old Desires,
The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,
Where the White Hand of Moses on the Bough
Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.
FitzGerald
5
See! from the world what profit have I gained?
What fruitage of my life in hand retained?
What use is Jamshed's goblet, once 't is crushed?
What pleasure's torch, when once its light has waned?
Whinfield
6
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.
FitzGerald
7
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.
FitzGerald
8
Each morn a thousand Roses brings, you say;
Yes, but where leaves the Rose of yesterday?
And this first Summer month that brings the Rose
Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.
FitzGerald
9
With me along some strip of Herbage strown
That just divides the desert from the sown,
Where name of Slave and Sultan scarce is known,
And pity Sultan Mahmud on his Throne.
FitzGerald
10
A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread - and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness -
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!
FitzGerald
11
Some for the Glories of this World; and some
Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come;
Ah, take the Cash and let the Credit go,
Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!
FitzGerald
12
Look to the blowing Rose about us - "lo,
"Laughing," she says, "into the world I blow,
"At once the silken tassel of my Purse
"Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throws."
FitzGerald
13
And those who husbanded the Golden Grain,
And those who flung it to the winds like Rain,
Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn'd
As, buried once, Men want dug up again.
FitzGerald
14
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.
FitzGerald
15
Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai
Whose Portals are alternate Night and Day,
How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp
Abode his destin'd Hour, and went his way.
FitzGerald
16
They say the Lion and the Lizard keep
The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep:
And Bahram, that great Hunter - the Wild Ass
Stamps o'er his Head, and he lies fast asleep.
FitzGerald
17
I sometimes think that never blows so red
The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled;
That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head.
FitzGerald
18
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!
FitzGerald
19
Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears
TO-DAY of past Regrets and future Fears:
To-morrow! - Why, To-morrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n thousand Years.
FitzGerald
20
In Earth's Dark Bosom, Myriads of the Best
That She has known, disheartened in their Quest
For Truth, are sleeping, while the Waste of Naught
Is thronged with Those to come, and Those at rest.
Garner 1895
21
And we, that now make merry in the Room
They left, and Summer dresses in new bloom,
Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth
Descend - ourselves to make a Couch - for whom?
FitzGerald
22
Yon rolling heaven for our destruction, yours and mine,
Aims its stroke at our lives, yours and mine;
Come, love, sit on the grass, - it will not be long
Ere grass grows out of our dust, yours and mine.
Nathan,Haskell,Dole
23
So make the most of what we yet may spend,
Before we too into the Dust decend;
Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie,
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and - sans End.
FitzGerald
24
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."
FitzGerald
25
Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd
Of the Two Worlds so learnedly - are thrust
Like foolish Prophets forth; their Words to Scorn
Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.
FitzGerald
TAMAM