Friday, March 8, 2013

Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam 4



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.

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!

Ah, my Belov'ed fill the Cup that clears 
To-day Past Regrets and Future Fears: 
To-morrow!--Why, To-morrow I may be 
Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years.

For some we loved, the loveliest and the best 
That from his Vintage rolling Time hath prest, 
Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before, 
And one by one crept silently to rest.

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?

Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend, 
Before we too into the Dust descend; 
Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie 
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and--sans End!

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."
 
Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd 
Of the Two Worlds so wisely--they are thrust 
Like foolish Prophets forth; their Words to Scorn 
Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.

Myself when young did eagerly frequent 
Doctor and Saint, and heard great argument 
About it and about: but evermore 
Came out by the same door where in I went.

With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow, 
And with mine own hand wrought to make it grow; 
And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd-- 
"I came like Water, and like Wind I go."

Into this Universe, and Why not knowing 
Nor Whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing; 
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste, 
I know not Whither, willy-nilly blowing.

What, without asking, hither hurried Whence? 
And, without asking, Whither hurried hence! 
Oh, many a Cup of this forbidden Wine 
Must drown the memory of that insolence!

Up from Earth's Centre through the Seventh Gate 
rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate; 
And many a Knot unravel'd by the Road; 
But not the Master-knot of Human Fate.

There was the Door to which I found no Key; 
There was the Veil through which I might not see: 
Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee 
There was--and then no more of Thee and Me.

Earth could not answer; nor the Seas that mourn 
In flowing Purple, of their Lord forlorn; 
Nor rolling Heaven, with all his Signs reveal'd 
And hidden by the sleeve of Night and Morn.

Then of the Thee in Me works behind 
The Veil, I lifted up my hands to find 
A Lamp amid the Darkness; and I heard, 
As from Without--"The Me Within Thee Blind!"

Then to the lip of this poor earthen Urn 
I lean'd, the Secret of my Life to learn: 
And Lip to Lip it murmur'd--"While you live 
Drink!--for, once dead, you never shall return." 

Omar Khayyam's Born: 18 May 1048 in Nishapur, Persia (now Iran)
Died: 4 Dec 1131 in Nishapur, Persia (now Iran)
His full name was Ghiyath al-Din Abu'l-Fath Umar ibn Ibrahim Al-Nisaburi al-Khayyami  means 'tent maker' played on the meaning of his own name when he wrote:-
Khayyam, who stitched the tents of science,
Has fallen in grief's furnace and been suddenly burned,
The shears of Fate have cut the tent ropes of his life,
And the broker of Hope has sold him for nothing!
Omar Khayyam was an Islamic scholar who was a poet as well as a mathematician. He compiled astronomical tables and contributed to calendar reform and discovered a geometrical method of solving cubic equations by intersecting a parabola with a circle.

Syafuan Gani
Doha, Qatar

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