Then take of bhang one grain, Of rosy grape-juice take one pint or twain; Sufis, you say, must not take this or that, Then go and eat the pebbles off the plain! Arise, and cut these bonds, as with a knife. Bow down, and bear thy fate, the eternal pen Will not unwrite its roll for thee, I trow!
Leave naught undone of what you have to do, For when you go, you will return no more. Come, let us drink, thou grantest not two lives; When one is spent, we find it not again. Thou say'st, "Look not. Cast dust on those deaf skies, who spurn Thy orisons and bootless prayers, and learn To quaff the cup, and hover round the fair; Of all who go, did ever one return?
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To-day a token of affection gave, Darting a kind glance from her eyes, she passed, And said, "Do good and cast it on the wave! Thy drums are hushed, thy 'larums have rung truce. For shame so poor a Mussulman to be. By day and night, with strains of music drink! Where'er thou lightest on a cup of wine, Spill just one drop, and take the rest and drink! Thou'rt all we need, the rest is vanity.
A woman's wheel spins clothes for man and wife, It does more good than you, O heavenly wheel! Woo the sweet daughter of the grape, no other; The daughter is forbidden, it is true, But she is nicer than her lawful mother! Was ever known so strange a martyrdom? For though to-day you perish in your sins, To-morrow He'll absolve your crumbling dust. Unloose me from your chain of tyrannies!
If none but fools your favors may enjoy, Then favor meI am not very wise! Which of us is the more bloodthirsty, pray? Who spun my web of silk and wool? Who wrote upon my forehead all my good, And all my evil deeds? In truth not I. To-morrow we shall quit this inn, and march With comrades who have marched seven thousand years. Wine keeps heart, faith, and reason too, amused; Had Iblis swallowed but a single drop, To worship Adam he had ne'er refused! How can the pilgrim faint whilst Thou art near? On the last day Thy grace will wash me white, And make my "black record " to disappear.
Thou hast thy weary beads, and saintly show, Leave me my cheerful sweetheart, and my wine! Since you must go, it matters not to you. When 'tis worn, I go again, another to purvey. They say, "May Allah grant thee penitence! I see myself debarred From all its boons, and wrongfully disgraced. What if I am? Each sect miscalls me, but I heed them not, I am my own, and, what I am, I am.
And drink I will to-night on Sadr's feast: And throw my arms about the wine-jar's neck, And kiss its lip, and clasp it to my breast! I thought 'twas past That day more weary than a sleepless night And blessed breakfast-time had come at last! I served a long apprenticeship to fate, But yet of fortune gained no mastery. Where have I said that wine is wrong for all? I said, "Show me another proof.
Each single act I will must needs be wrong, Since none but He has power to will aright.
Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (Le Gallienne)
Pray what, and where, and whence is this "myself"? Drag on life's load without my cups I cannot! I am the slave of that sweet moment, when They say, "Take one more goblet," and I can not! Arise, and quaff the Etern Cupbearer's wine, And so from troubles of both worlds be free! For, be it weal we meet, or be it woe, The weal doth pass, and woe too hath its date.
Suppose you gain the world, you can but leave it, You can not carry it away with you! What reasons have you for such great excess? If all who love and drink are going wrong, There's many a wight of heaven may well despair! Pardon these hands that ever grasp the cup, These feet that to the tavern ever stray!
This self is captive to earth's good and ill, Make me beside myself, and set me free! O live this present moment, which is thine, Seek not a morrow, mourn not yesterday! And spin life's woof, but for the warp, where is it?
And many a righteous man has burned to dust In heaven's blue rondure, but their smoke, where is it? Let not the cup's lip touch that lip of thine! Beshrew me, if I fail to drink his blood, For who is he, to touch that lip of thine? Through all these years I make experiment, If my sins or Thy mercy greater be. Set wine before me, and go where you will! Did ever mortal pass a sinless day? If I do ill, do not requite with ill! Evil for evil how can'st Thou repay? My soul within and spirit are of Thee! Fill up my cup!
I know not if the breath I now am drawing is my last, or not! Yea, drink, Khayyam, your dust will soon be made A jug, or pitcher, or a cup, may be! When life's last page is read and turned, what then? Suppose you live a hundred years of bliss, Yea, and a hundred years besides, what then? This has a dozen tongues, yet holds her peace, That has a hundred hands which take no bribe. Bring that delicious darling, let me grasp it! That pleasing chain which tangles in its coils Wise men and fools together, let me grasp it! What with forbidden meats, and lusts, alack! And leaving undone what 'twas right to do, And doing wrong, my face is very black!
I could dispense with all, but with wine, never!
Yea, a mere nothing, hovering in the abyss, A void before you, and a void behind! Rather let tangled curls attract your view; And shed the bottle's life-blood in your cup, Or e'er death shed your blood, and feast on you. Quaff wine, and make thy heaven here below, Who knows if heaven above will be thy meed? Would that all evil actions made men drunk, For then no sober people should I see! I have told you seventy times and seven, Once gone, nor hell will send you back, nor heaven. See, thou art mangling on thy cruel wheel Faridun's fingers, and Kai Khosrau's heart!
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Thou didst not use to treat her thus of yore, Why then now doom her in the world to abide? Well saith the sage, "Life is a poison rank, And antidote, save grape-juice, there is none. This hooded cowl and prayer-mat pawn for wine, Then will I boast me in security. O entrance who procurest, And guide the way, O Thou of guides the surest! Directors born of men shall not direct me, Their counsel comes to naught, but Thou endurest! My errors I will not deny, but yet Does foul abuse become a moralist?
We are but airBring wine; I ask no more! Write me the draft for wine they call Barat! The day my weariness is drowned in wine Will seem to me as the great night Barat! You can not bend things to your will, but yet Cheer up for the few moments you are here! Enjoy this heaven with maids of Paradise! When one has carved a block into a lute, Can he from that same block a pipe obtain? It is to show in dawn's bright looking-glass How of thy careless life a night is spent. Where can I find another friend like wine, So genuine, so solacing, so pure? The Afghan Mona Lisa. The Fellowship of the Saint.
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The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (tr. Whinfield)
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Thus Spoke Khayyam: The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam - Ayob Palani - Google Книги
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