large/1708/rubaiyat_a_librivox_64kb_mp3/rubaiyat_1_khayyam_64kb_19
large/1708/rubaiyat_a_librivox_64kb_mp3/rubaiyat_1_khayyam_64kb
English
1708
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. 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
rbage 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. XI. Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough, A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse--and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness-- And Wilderness is Paradise enow. XII. "How sweet is mortal Sovranty!"--think some: Others--"How blest the Paradise to come!" Ah, take the Cash in hand and waive the Rest; Oh, the brave Music of a distant Drum! XIII. Look to the Rose that blows 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 throw." XIV. 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. 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. OR HATIM TAI CRY SUPPER HEED THEM NOT WITH ME ALONG SOME STRIP OF HERBAGE STRONE THAT JUST DIVIDES THE DESERT FROM THE SOWN WHERE NAME OF SLAVE AND SULTAN SCARCE IS KNOWN AND PITY SULTAN MAHMUD ON HIS THRONE HERE WITH A LOAF OF BREAD BENEATH THE BOUGH A FLASK OF WINE A BOOK OF VERSE AND THOU BESIDE ME SINGING IN THE WILDERNESS AND WILDERNESS IS PARADISE ENOW HOW SWEET IS MORTAL SOVEREIGNTY THINK SOME OTHERS HOW BLESS THE PARADISE TO COME AH TAKE THE CASH IN HAND AND WAVE THE REST OH THE BRAVE MUSIC OF A DISTANT DRUM LOOK TO THE ROSE THAT BLOWS ABOUT US LOW LAUGHING SHE SAYS INTO THE WORLD I BLOW AT ONCE THE SILKEN TASSEL OF MY PURSE TEAR AND ITS TREASURE 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
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