large/1708/rubaiyat_a_librivox_64kb_mp3/rubaiyat_1_khayyam_64kb_1
large/1708/rubaiyat_a_librivox_64kb_mp3/rubaiyat_1_khayyam_64kb
English
1708
XX. 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. AH MY BELOVED FILL THE CUP THAT CLEARS TO DAY OF PAST REGRET AND FUTURE FEARS TO MORROW WHY TO MORROW I MAY BE MYSELF WITH YESTERDAY'S SEVEN THOUSAND YEARS
ts upon Turns Ashes--or it prospers; and anon, Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face Lighting a little Hour or two--is gone. XV. 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. XVI. Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai Whose Doorways are alternate Night and Day, How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp Abode his Hour or two, and went his way. XVII. 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. XVIII. I sometimes think that never blows so red The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled; That every Hyacinth the Garden wears Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head. XIX. And this delightful Herb whose tender Green Fledges the River's Lip on which we lean-- Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!  ON THE GARDEN THROW 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 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 WONT UP AGAIN THINK IN THIS BATTERED CAVERN CERRIE WHOSE DOORWAYS ARE ALTERNATE NIGHT AND DAY HOW SULTAN AFTER SULTAN WITH HIS POMP ABODE HIS HOUR OR TWO AND WENT HIS WAY THEY SAY THE LION AND THE LIZARD KEEP THE COURTS WHERE GIANSHEAD GLORIED AND DRANK DEEP AND BACHAM THAT GREAT HUNTER THE WILD ASS STAMPS O'ER HIS HEAD AND HE LIES FAST ASLEEP I SOMETIMES THINK THAT NEVER BLOWS SO RED THE ROSES WHERE SOME BURIED CAESAR BLED THAT EVERY HYACINTH THE GARDEN WEARS DROPT IN ITS LAP FROM SOME ONCE LOVELY HEAD AND THIS DELIGHTFUL HERB WHOSE TENDER GREEN FLEDGES THE RIVER'S LIP ON WHICH WE LEAN AH LEAN UPON IT LIGHTLY FOR WHO KNOWS FROM WHAT ONCE LOVELY LIP IT SPRINGS UNSEEN
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