The Sufistic Quatrains Of Omar Khayyam Part 72

73.

This wine, which by its nature hath a mult.i.tude of forms, which now is animal and now is plant, can never cease to be, for its imperishable self ordains a lasting life though forms may disappear.

74.

No smoke ascends above my holocaust of crime: could man ask more? This hand, which man's injustice raises to my head, no comfort brings, even though it touch the hem of saintly robes.

75.

The one on whom you surely most rely, will be your enemy, if but you cleanse the eyes that are within. Far better, for the short time which remains, to count but little on our friends. The talk of men to-day is but a broken reed.

76.

O heedless man! this veil of flesh is naught; this nine-fold vault of brilliant heaven is naught. Then give thyself to joy in this disordered place [the world], for life is but an instant wed to it, and that is equally naught.

77.

Now bring me dancers, wine, and a houri with charming, ravis.h.i.+ng features--if houris there be. Or find a beautiful brook within a green ravine, if such there be.

Ask nothing better; think no more of h.e.l.l's hot penalties, for, verily, none is, nor any Paradise more fair than that I sing, if Paradise there be.

78.

Came an old man from out the tavern drunk, his prayer-rug on his shoulders and a bowl of wine in hand. I said to him: Aged man! what meaneth this?

He answered me: Drink wine, my friend, for this world is naught but wind.

79.

A nightingale, inebriate [with love of the rose], within a garden saw the roses laughing with a cup of wine. To me he came and whispered in my ear, in tones appropriate to the circ.u.mstance: Be on thy guard, my friend; one cannot hold the life that slips away.

80.

Naught is thy body but a tent, Khayyam, thy soul is its inhabitant, and its last, long home annihilation is.

When thy soul leaves the tent, the slaves arise and strike it ere they pitch it for the oncoming soul.

81.

Khayyam, who sewed the tents of philosophic lore, is suddenly engulfed within the crucible of grief, and there is burned. The shears of Fate have cut the thread of his existence; the Auctioneer of Life has sold him for a song.

82.

In springtime let me sit upon the edge of a broad field with one fair girl, and wine in plenty if wine is at hand. Though this may culpable be thought, I should be worse than any dog did I not dream of Paradise.

83.

Rose-colored wine in crystal cups delights. It charms when sipped to lutes' melodious airs or to the plaintive throbbing of the harp. The devotee who knows not of the joy that is in wine is charming [to himself] or when a thousand miles between us yawn.

84.

The time we pa.s.s in this world has no worth without the wine-cup and the wine. It also needs the swelling sound of Irak's flute. Incessant watching of things here below has told me that in pleasure and in joy alone are worth: the rest is naught.

85.

Be on thy guard, my friend, for soon thou wilt be separate from thy soul; thou then shalt go behind the curtain of G.o.d's secrecy. Drink, for thou knowest not whence thou here hast come; make haste, for thou art ignorant where thou shalt go.

86.

Since we must die, why do we live? Why agonize to reach a problematic bliss? Since, for some unknown cause, we may not here remain, why not concern ourselves about the future pilgrimage? Why disregard our fate?

87.

Occasion makes me sing the praise of wine when I surround myself with men and things I love. O Devotee!

canst thou be happy here below knowing that wisdom is your Lord? Then know, at least, that wisdom is my slave.

88.

The world will ever count me as depraved. Natheless I am not guilty, Men of Holiness! Look on yourselves and question what you are. Ye say I contravene the Koran's law. Yet I have only known the sins of drunkenness, debauchery and leasing.

89.

Free yourselves from your own pa.s.sions and insatiate greed and lo! you shall go out poor as a mendicant.

Look, rather, unto what you are, whence you have come, and learn what you are doing and where bound.

90.

The universe is but a point in our poor round of life; the Djeihoun [Oxus] but a feeble trace of tears and blood; h.e.l.l but a spark of useless worry which we give ourselves, and Paradise an instant of repose, which here below we rarely catch.

91.

A slave in dire revolt am I: where is Thy will? Black with all sin my heart: where is Thy light and Thy control?

If Thou giv'st Paradise to our obedience alone [to Thy laws], it is a debt of which Thou quit'st Thyself and in such case we need Thy pity and benevolence.