Think, in this battered Caravanserai Whose Doorways are alternate Night and Day, How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp Abode his Hour or two, and went his way. 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.Īnd those who husbanded the Golden Grain, And those who flung it to the Winds like Rain, Alike to no such aureate Earth are turned As, buried once, Men want dug up again. 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.”
“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! 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. 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. Iram indeed is gone with all its Rose, And Jamshyd’s Seven-ringed Cup where no one knows But still the Vine her ancient Ruby yields, And still a Garden by the Water blows.Īnd David’s Lips are locked but in divine High piping Pahlavi, with Wine! Wine! Wine! “ Red Wine!” - the Nightingale cries to the Rose That yellow Cheek of hers to incarnadine.Ĭome, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring The Winter Garment of Repentance fling: The Bird of Time has but a little way To fly - and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.Īnd look - a thousand Blossoms with the Day Woke - and a thousand scattered into Clay: And this first Summer Month that brings the Rose Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.īut come with old Khayyam, and leave the Lot Of Kaikobad and Kaikhosru forgot: Let Rustum lay about him as he will, Or Hatim Tai cry Supper - heed them not. 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. AWAKE! for Morning in the Bowl of Night Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight: And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught The Sultan’s Turret in a Noose of Light.ĭreaming when Dawn’s Left Hand was in the Sky I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry, “Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup Before Life’s Liquor in its Cup be dry.”Īnd, 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.”
0 kommentar(er)
