The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám
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 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 Sultán's Turret with a Shaft of Light.


 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 Worshiper outside?"


 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."


 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.


 Irám indeed is gone with all his Rose,
 And Jamshýd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;
   But still a Ruby kindles in the Vine,
 And many a Garden by the Water blows.


 And David's lips are lockt; but in divine
 High-piping Pehleví, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!
   "Red Wine!" - the Nightingale cries to the Rose
 That sallow cheek of hers to' incarnadine.


 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.


 Whether at Naishápúr 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.


 Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say:
 Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?
   And this first Summer month that brings the Rose
 Shall take Jamshýd and Kaikobád away.


 Well, let it take them! What have we to do
 With Kaikobád the Great, or Kaikhosrú?
   Let Zál and Rustum bluster as they will,
 Or Hátim call to Supper - heed not you.