# Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam - Author: [Omar Khayyám](https://www.leafyquotes.com/omar-khayyam.md) - Quotes: 134 - Book page: https://www.leafyquotes.com/omar-khayyam/rubaiyat-of-omar-khayyam ## Quotes > Ah Love! could you and I with Him conspire. > A book, a woman, and a flask of wine: > > The three make heaven for me; it may be thine > > Is some sour place of singing cold and bare — > > But then, I never said thy heaven was mine. p. 32 > Would but some wing'ed Angel ere too late > > Arrest the yet unfolded Roll of Fate, > > And make the stern Recorder otherwise > > Enregister, or quite obliterate! > What! from his helpless Creature be repaid > > Pure Gold for what he lent him dross-allay'd — > > Sue for a Debt he never did contract, > > And cannot answer — Oh, the sorry trade! > And when Thyself with shining Foot shall pass > > Among the Guests Star-scatter'd on The Grass, > > And in Thy joyous Errand reach the Spot > > Where I made one — turn down an empty Glass! > And this I know: whether the one True Light > > Kindle to Love, or Wrath-consume me quite, > > One Flash of It within the Tavern caught > > Better than in the Temple lost outright. > The Vine had struck a fibre: which about > > If clings my being — let the Dervish flout; > > Of my Base metal may be filed a Key, > > That shall unlock the Door he howls without. > Yon rising Moon that looks for us again — > > How oft hereafter will she wax and wane; > > How oft hereafter rising look for us > > Through this same Garden — and for one in vain! > But here are wine and beautiful young girls, > > Be wise and hide your Sorrows in their curls, > > Dive as you will in life's mysterious sea, > > You shall not bring us any better pearls. p. 45 > One half so precious as the stuff they sell. > I wonder often what the Vintners buy > > One half so precious as the stuff they sell. > Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide, > > And wash the Body whence the Life has died, > > And lay me, shrouded in the living Leaf, > > By some not unfrequented Garden-side. > After a momentary silence spake > > Some Vessel of a more ungainly Make; > > "They sneer at me for leaning all awry: > > What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?" > "Why," said another, "Some there are who tell > > Of one who threatens he will toss to Hell > > The luckless Pots he marr'd in making--Pish! > > "He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well." > Then said a Second — "Ne'er a peevish Boy > > Would break the Bowl from which he drank in joy, > > And He that with his hand the Vessel made > > Will surely not in after Wrath destroy." > Indeed the Idols I have loved so long > > Have done my credit in this World much wrong: > > Have drown'd my Glory in a shallow Cup > > And sold my Reputation for a Song. > "Well," Murmur'd one, "Let whoso make or buy, > > My Clay with long Oblivion is gone dry: > > But fill me with the old familiar juice, > > Methinks I might recover by and by." > Allah, perchance, the secret word might spell; > > If Allah be, He keeps His secret well; > > What He hath hidden, who shall hope to find? > > Shall God His secret to a maggot tell? p. 45 > Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before > > I swore — but was I sober when I swore? > > And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand > > My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore. > Said one among them — "Surely not in vain > > My substance of the common Earth was ta'en > > And to this Figure moulded, to be broke, > > Or trampled back to shapeless Earth again." > What! out of senseless Nothing to provoke > > A conscious Something to resent the yoke > > Of unpermitted Pleasure, under pain > > Of Everlasting Penalties, if broke! > Shapes of all Sorts and Sizes, great and small, > > That stood along the floor and by the wall; > > And some loquacious Vessels were; and some > > Listen'd perhaps, but never talk'd at all. > And when like her, oh, Saki, you shall pass. > And ev'n with Paradise devise the Snake. > As under cover of departing Day > > Slunk hunger-stricken Ramazan away, > > Once more within the Potter's house alone > > I stood, surrounded by the Shapes of Clay. > Said one — "Folks of a surly Tapster tell, > > "And daub his Visage with the Smoke of Hell; > > "They talk of some strict Testing of us—Pish! > > "He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well." > Oh, Thou who Man of baser Earth didst make, > > And ev'n with Paradise devise the Snake: > > For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man > > Is blacken'd — Man's forgiveness give — and take! > Ah, Love! could thou and I with Fate conspire > > To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire, > > Would not we shatter it to bits — and then > > Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire! > Yet Ah, that Spring should vanish with the Rose! > That ev'n my buried Ashes such a snare > > Of Vintage shall fling up into the Air > > As not a True-believer passing by > > But shall be overtaken unaware. > And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel, > > And robb'd me of my Robe of Honour — well, > > I often wonder what the Vintners buy > > One half so precious as the Goods they sell. > Oh Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make, > > And who with Eden didst devise the Snake; > > For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man > > Is blacken'd, Man's Forgiveness give — and take! > The Koran! well, come put me to the test— > > Lovely old book in hideous error drest— > > Believe me, I can quote the Koran too, > > The unbeliever knows his Koran best. And do you think that unto such as you, > > A maggot-minded, starved, fanatic crew, > > God gave the secret, and denied it me?— > > Well, well, what matters it! believe that too. p. 47 > And strange to tell, among that Earthen Lot > > Some could articulate, while others not: > > And suddenly one more impatient cried — > > "Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?" > Tamám Shud. / It is finished. > Ah, Moon of my Delight who know'st no wane, > > The Moon of Heav'n is rising once again: > > How oft hereafter rising shall she look > > Through this same Garden after me — in vain! > Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose! > > That Youth's sweet-scented Manuscript should close! > > The Nightingale that in the Branches sang, > > Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows! > As impotently moves as you or I. > Came out by the same Door where in I went. > Strange, is it not? that of the myriads who > > Before us pass'd the door of Darkness through, > > Not one returns to tell us of the Road, > > Which to discover we must travel too. > 'Tis but a Tent where takes his one day's rest > > A Sultan to the realm of Death addrest; > > The Sultan rises, and the dark Ferrash > > Strikes, and prepares it for another Guest. > 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. > Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuit > > Of This and That endeavour and dispute; > > Better be jocund with the fruitful Grape > > Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit. > Ah, fill the Cup: — what boots it to repeat > > How Time is slipping underneath our Feet: > > Unborn and dead , > > Why fret about them if be sweet! > 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. > With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow, > > And with my own hand labour'd it to grow: > > And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd— > > "I came like Water, and like Wind I go." > For in the Market-place, one Dusk of Day, > > I watch'd the Potter thumping his wet Clay: > > And with its all obliterated Tongue > > It murmur'd—"Gently, Brother, gently, pray!" > Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside, > > And naked on the Air of Heaven ride, > > Were't not a Shame — were't not a Shame for him > > In this clay carcase crippled to abide? > Oh, threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise! > > One thing at least is certain — This Life flies; > > One thing is certain and the rest is Lies; > > The Flower that once has blown for ever dies. > You know, my Friends, with what a brave Carouse > > I made a Second Marriage in my house; > > Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed > > And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse. > 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 as in I went. > A moment guess'd — then back behind the Fold > > Immerst of Darkness round the Drama roll'd > > Which, for the Pastime of Eternity, > > He doth Himself contrive, enact, behold. > A Moment's Halt — a momentary taste > > Of from the Well amid the Waste — > > And Lo! — the phantom Caravan has reach'd > > The it set out from — Oh, make haste! > 'Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days > > Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays: > > Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays, > > And one by one back in the Closet lays. > 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." > Yesterday This Day's Madness did prepare; > > To-morrow's Silence, Triumph, or Despair: > > Drink! for you know not whence you came, nor why: > > Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where. > Ah, but my Computations, People say, > > Reduced the Year to better reckoning? — Nay > > 'Twas only striking from the Calendar > > Unborn To-morrow, and dead Yesterday. > Oh Thou who didst with Pitfall and with Gin > > Beset the Road I was to wander in, > > Thou wilt not with Predestination round > > Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin? > Whose secret Presence, through Creation's veins > > Running Quicksilver-like eludes your pains; > > Taking all shapes from Mah to Mahi; and > > They change and perish all — but He remains. > The Grape that can with Logic absolute > > The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute. > When You and I behind the Veil are past, > > Oh, but the long, long while the World shall last, > > Which of our Coming and Departure heeds > > As the Sea's self should heed a pebble-cast. > Oh, many a Cup of this forbidden Wine > > Must drown the memory of that insolence! > A Hair perhaps divides the False and True; > > Yes; and a single Alif were the clue — > > Could you but find it — to the Treasure-house, > > And peradventure to The Master too. > And fear not lest Existence closing your > > Account, and mine, should know the like no more; > > The Eternal Saki from that Bowl has pour'd > > Millions of Bubbles like us, and will pour. > The mighty Mahmud, Allah-breathing Lord > > That all the misbelieving and black Horde > > Of Fears and Sorrows that infest the Soul > > Scatters before him with his whirlwind Sword. > Why, be this Juice the growth of God, who dare > > Blaspheme the twisted tendril as a Snare? > > A Blessing, we should use it, should we not? > > And if a Curse — why, then, Who set it there? > Thou wilt not with Predestined Evil round > > Enmesh, and then impute my Fall to Sin! > With Earth's first Clay They did the Last Man knead, > > And there of the Last Harvest sow'd the Seed: > > And the first Morning of Creation wrote > > What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read. > 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." > And this I know: whether the one True Light, > > Kindle to Love, or Wrath consume me quite, > > One Glimpse of It within the Tavern caught > > Better than in the Temple lost outright. > And lately, by the Tavern Door agape, > > Came shining through the Dusk an Angel Shape > > Bearing a Vessel on his Shoulder; and > > He bid me taste of it; and 'twas — the Grape! > We are no other than a moving row > > Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go > > Round with the Sun-illumined Lantern held > > In Midnight by the Master of the Show; > And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky. > 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 and > > There was — and then no more of and . > And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press > > End in what All begins and ends in — Yes; > > Think then you are To-day what Yesterday > > You were — To-morrow You shall not be less. > One Moment in Annihilation's Waste, > > One moment, of the Well of Life to taste — > > The Stars are setting, and the Caravan > > Starts for the dawn of Nothing — Oh, make haste! > For "" and "" though with Rule and Line, > > And, "Up-and-down" without, I could define, > > I yet in all I only cared to know, > > Was never deep in anything but — Wine. > The Revelations of Devout and Learn'd > > Who rose before us, and as Prophets burn'd, > > Are all but Stories, which, awoke from Sleep, > > They told their comrades, and to Sleep return'd. > There was a Door to which I found no Key: > > There was a Veil past which I could not see: > > Some little Talk awhile of and > > There seemed — and then no more of and . > I sent my Soul through the Invisible, > > Some letter of that After-life to spell: > > And by and by my Soul return'd to me, > > And answer'd "I Myself am Heav'n and Hell." > But Here or There as strikes the Player goes. > One Flash of It within the Tavern caught. > Heav'n but the Vision of fulfill'd Desire, > > And Hell the Shadow from a Soul on fire, > > Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves, > > So late emerged from, shall so soon expire. > What, without asking, hither hurried whence? > > And, without asking, whither hurried hence! > > Another and another Cup to drown > > The Memory of this Impertinence! > Perplext no more with Human or Divine, > > To-morrow's tangle to the winds resign, > > And lose your fingers in the tresses of > > The Cypress — slender Minister of Wine. > The Ball no Question makes of Ayes and Noes, > > But Right or Left as strikes the Player goes; > > And He that toss'd Thee down into the Field, > > He knows about it all — knows — HE knows! > But helpless Pieces of the Game He plays > > Upon this Chequer-board of Nights and Days; > > Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays, > > And one by one back in the Closet lays. > Then of the works behind > > The Veil, I lifted up my hands to find > > A Lamp amid the Darkness; and I heard, > > As from Without — "!" > Would you that spangle of Existence spend > > About the Secret — Quick about it, Friend! > > A Hair perhaps divides the False and True — > > And upon what, prithee, may life depend? > The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, > > Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit > > Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, > > Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it. > And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky, > > Whereunder crawling coop't we live and die, > > Lift not thy hands to It for help — for It > > Rolls impotently on as Thou or I. > I must abjure the Balm of Life, I must, > > Scared by some After-reckoning ta'en on trust, > > Or lured with Hope of some Diviner Drink, > > To fill the Cup — when crumbled into Dust! > But if in vain, down on the stubborn floor > > Of Earth, and up to Heav'n's unopening Door > > You gaze To-day, while You are You — how then > > To-morrow, You when shall be You no more? > 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. > But come with old Khayyám, and leave the Lot > > Of Kaikobád and Kaikhosrú forgot: > > Let Rustum lay about him as he will, > > Or Hátim Tai cry Supper — heed them not. > 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." > Well, let it take them! What have we to do > > With Kaikobad the Great, or Kaikhosru? > > Let Zal and Rustum bluster as they will, > > Or Hatim call to Supper — heed not you. > 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. > Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd > > Of the Two Worlds so wisely — they are thrust. > Before the phantom of False morning died, > > Methought a Voice within the Tavern cried, > > "When all the Temple is prepared within, > > Why nods the drowsy Worshipper outside?" > 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! > Come, 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. > Stamps o'er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep. > Oh, come with old Khayyam, and leave the Wise > > To talk; one thing is certain, that Life flies; > > One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies; > > The Flower that once has blown for ever dies. > 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! > Irám indeed is gone with all its Rose, > > And Jamshýd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows; > > But still the Vine her ancient Ruby yields, > > And still a Garden by the Water blows. > 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! > Now the New Year reviving old Desires, > > The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires, > > Where the on the Bough > > Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires. > "How sweet is mortal Sovranty!"—think some: > > Others — "How blest the Paradise to come!" > > Ah, take the Cash in hand and wave the Rest; > > Oh, the brave Music of a distant Drum! > They say the Lion and the Lizard keep > > The Courts where Jamshýd gloried and drank deep: > > And Bahrám, that great Hunter—the Wild Ass > > Stamps o'er his Head, and he lies fast asleep. > With me along the strip of Herbage strown > > That just divides the desert from the sown, > > Where name of Slave and Sultan is forgot — > > And Peace to Mahmud on his golden Throne! > Ah! my Belovéd, 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. > In divine > > High piping Péhlevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine! > > "Red Wine!"—the Nightingale cries to the Rose > > That yellow Cheek of her's to'incarnadine. > Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai > > Whose Doorways are alternate Night and Day, > > How Sultán after Sultán with his Pomp > > Abode his Hour or two, and went his way. > I sometimes think that never blows so red > > The Rose as where some buried Cæsar bled; > > That every Hyacinth the Garden wears > > Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head. > Alike for those who for prepare, > > And those that after some stare, > > A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries > > "Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There." > Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say; > > Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday? > Of threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise! > > One thing at least is certain — This Life flies. > 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. > 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. > Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai > > Whose Portals are alternate Night and Day, > > How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp > > Abode his destined Hour, and went his way. > Lo! some we loved, the loveliest and the best > > That Time and Fate of all their Vintage prest, > > Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before, > > And one by one crept silently to Rest. > That sallow cheek of hers to' incarnadine. > Dreaming 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." > But still a Ruby kindles in the Vine, > > And many a Garden by the Water blows. > Wake! For the Sun, who scatter'd into flight > > The Stars before him from the Field of Night, > > Drives Night along with them from Heav'n, and strikes > > The Sultan's Turret with a Shaft of Light. > 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 look — a thousand Blossoms with the Day > > Woke — and a thousand scatter'd into Clay. > For some we loved, the loveliest and the best > > That from his Vintage rolling Time hath prest. > 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! > 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. > 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. > With me along some Strip of Herbage strown > > That just divides the desert from the sown, > > Where name of Slave and Sultán scarce is known, > > And pity Sultán Mahmúd on his Throne. > 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.