# Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (Edward Fitzgerald tr)

*Exported from [Holy-Writings.com](https://www.holy-writings.com/) on 2026-06-19 — 1 clipping.*

---

> THE RUBAYYAT OF OMAR KHAYYAM
>  Translated into English in 1859 by Edward Fitzgerald
> 
> I.
> 	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.
> II.
> 	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."
> III.
> 	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."
> IV.
> 	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.
> V.
> 	Iram indeed is gone with all its Rose,
> 	And Jamshyd'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.
> VI.
> 	And David's Lips are lock't; but in divine
> 	High piping Pehlevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!
> 	Red Wine!" -- the Nightingale cries to the Rose
> 	That yellow Cheek of hers to incarnadine.
> VII.
> 	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.
> VIII.
> 	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 kep falling one by one.
> IX.
> 	Morning 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 Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.
> X.
> 	But come with old Khayyam, and leave the Lot
> 	Of Kaikobad and Kaikhosru forgot:
> 	Let Rustum lay about him as he will,
> 	Or Hatim Tai cry Supper -- heed them not.
> XI.
> 	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 is Mahmud on his Golden Throne!
> XII.
> 	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!
> XIII.
> 	Some for the Glories of This World; and some
> 	Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come;
> 	Ah, take the Cash, and let the Promise go,
> 	Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!
> XIV.
> 	Were it not Folly, Spider-like to spin
> 	The Thread of present Life away to win --
> 	What? for ourselves, who know not if we shall
> 	Breathe out the very Breath we now breathe in!
> XV.
> 	Look to the Rose that blows about us -- "Lo,
> 	Laughing," she says, "into the World I blow:
> 	At once the silken Tassel of my Purse
> 	Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."
> XVI.
> 	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.
> XVII.
> 	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.
> XVIII.
> 	Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai
> 	Whose Doorways are alternate Night and Day,
> 	How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp
> 	Abode his Hour or two and went his way.
> XIX.
> 	They say the Lion and the Lizard keep
> 	The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep:
> 	And Bahram, that great Hunter -- the Wild Ass
> 	Stamps o'er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep.
> XX.
> 	I sometimes think that never blows so red
> 	The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled;
> 	That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
> 	Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head.
> XXI.
> 	And this delightful Herb whose tender Green
> 	Fledges the River's Lip on which we lean --
> 	Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows
> 	From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!
> XXII.
> 	Ah, my Beloved, 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.
> XXIII.
> 	Lo! some we loved, the loveliest and 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.
> XXIV.
> 	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?
> XXV.
> 	Ah, make the most of what we may yet 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!
> XXVI.
> 	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!"
> XXVII.
> 	Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd
> 	Of the Two Worlds so learnedly, are thrust
> 	Like foolish Prophets forth; their Works to Scorn
> 	Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.
> XXVIII.
> 	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 forever dies.
> XXIX.
> 	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.
> XXX.
> 	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."
> XXXI.
> 	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.
> XXXII.
> 	Up from Earth's Centre through the Seventh Gate
> 	I rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate,
> 	And many Knots unravel'd by the Road;
> 	But not the Master-Knot of Human Fate.
> XXXIII.
> 	There was the Door to which I found no Key:
> 	There was the Veil through which I could not see:
> 	Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee
> 	There was -- and then no more of Thee and Me.
> XXXIV.
> 	Then to the rolling Heav'n itself I cried,
> 	Asking, "What Lamp had Destiny to guide
> 	Her little Children stumbling in the Dark?"
> 	And -- "A blind Understanding!" Heav'n replied.
> XXXV.
> 	Then to the Lip of this poor earthen Urn
> 	I lean'd, the secret Well of Life to learn:
> 	And Lip to Lip it murmur'd -- "While you live,
> 	Drink! -- for, once dead, you never shall return."
> XXXVI.
> 	I think the Vessel, that with fugitive
> 	Articulation answer'd, once did live,
> 	And merry-make, and the cold Lip I kiss'd,
> 	How many Kisses might it take -- and give!
> XXXVII.
> 	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!"
> XXXVIII.
> 	And has not such a Story from of Old
> 	Down Man's successive generations roll'd
> 	Of such a clod of saturated Earth
> 	Cast by the Maker into Human mould?
> XXXIX.
> 	Ah, fill the Cup: -- what boots it to repeat
> 	How Time is slipping underneath our Feet:
> 	Unborn To-morrow, and dead Yesterday,
> 	Why fret about them if To-day be sweet!
> XL.
> 	A Moment's Halt -- a momentary taste
> 	Of Being from the Well amid the Waste --
> 	And Lo! the phantom Caravan has reach'd
> 	The Nothing it set out from -- Oh, make haste!
> XLI.
> 	Oh, plagued no more with Human or Divine,
> 	To-morrow's tangle to itself resign,
> 	And lose your fingers in the tresses of
> 	The Cypress-slender Minister of Wine.
> XLII.
> 	Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuit
> 	Of This and That endeavor and dispute;
> 	Better be merry with the fruitful Grape
> 	Than sadden after none, or bitter, fruit.
> XLIII.
> 	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.
> XLIV.
> 	And lately, by the Tavern Door agape,
> 	Came stealing through the Dusk an Angel Shape
> 	Bearing a Vessel on his Shoulder; and
> 	He bid me taste of it; and 'twas -- the Grape!
> XLV.
> 	The Grape that can with Logic absolute
> 	The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute:
> 	The subtle Alchemest that in a Trice
> 	Life's leaden Metal into Gold transmute.
> XLVI.
> 	Why, be this Juice the growth of God, who dare
> 	Blaspheme the twisted tendril as Snare?
> 	A Blessing, we should use it, should we not?
> 	And if a Curse -- why, then, Who set it there?
> XLVII.
> 	But leave the Wise to wrangle, and with me
> 	The Quarrel of the Universe let be:
> 	And, in some corner of the Hubbub couch'd,
> 	Make Game of that which makes as much of Thee.
> XLVIII.
> 	For in and out, above, about, below,
> 	'Tis nothing but a Magic Shadow-show,
> 	Play'd in a Box whose Candle is the Sun,
> 	Round which we Phantom Figures come and go.
> XLIX.
> 	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.
> L.
> 	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 fellows, and to Sleep return'd.
> LI.
> 	Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside,
> 	And naked on the Air of Heaven ride,
> 	Is't not a shame -- Is't not a shame for him
> 	So long in this Clay suburb to abide?
> LII.
> 	But that is but a Tent wherein may rest
> 	A Sultan to the realm of Death addrest;
> 	The Sultan rises, and the dark Ferrash
> 	Strikes, and prepares it for another guest.
> LIII.
> 	I sent my Soul through the Invisible,
> 	Some letter of that After-life to spell:
> 	And after many days my Soul return'd
> 	And said, "Behold, Myself am Heav'n and Hell."
> LIV.
> 	Heav'n but the Vision of fulfill'd Desire,
> 	And Hell the Shadow of a Soul on fire,
> 	Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves,
> 	So late emerg'd from, shall so soon expire.
> LV.
> 	While the Rose blows along the River Brink,
> 	With old Khayyam and ruby vintage drink:
> 	And when the Angel with his darker Draught
> 	Draws up to Thee -- take that, and do not shrink.
> LVI.
> 	And fear not lest Existence closing your
> 	Account, should lose, or know the type no more;
> 	The Eternal Saki from the Bowl has pour'd
> 	Millions of Bubbls like us, and will pour.
> LVII.
> 	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 much as Ocean of a pebble-cast.
> LVIII.
> 	'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.
> LIX.
> 	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 -- He knows -- HE knows!
> LX.
> 	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.
> LXI.
> 	For let Philosopher and Doctor preach
> 	Of what they will, and what they will not -- each
> 	Is but one Link in an eternal Chain
> 	That none can slip, nor break, nor over-reach.
> LXII.
> 	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.
> LXIII.
> 	With Earth's first Clay They did the Last Man knead,
> 	And then of the Last Harvest sow'd the Seed:
> 	Yea, the first Morning of Creation wrote
> 	What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.
> LXIV.
> 	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.
> LXV.
> 	I tell You this -- When, starting from the Goal,
> 	Over the shoulders of the flaming Foal
> 	Of Heav'n Parwin and Mushtari they flung,
> 	In my predestin'd Plot of Dust and Soul.
> LXVI.
> 	The Vine has struck a fiber: 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.
> LXVII.
> 	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.
> LXVIII.
> 	What! out of senseless Nothing to provoke
> 	A conscious Something to resent the yoke
> 	Of unpermitted Pleasure, under pain
> 	Of Everlasting Penalties, if broke!
> LXIX.
> 	What! from his helpless Creature be repaid
> 	Pure Gold for what he lent us dross-allay'd --
> 	Sue for a Debt we never did contract,
> 	And cannot answer -- Oh the sorry trade!
> LXX.
> 	Nay, but for terror of his wrathful Face,
> 	I swear I will not call Injustice Grace;
> 	Not one Good Fellow of the Tavern but
> 	Would kick so poor a Coward from the place.
> LXXI.
> 	Oh Thou, who didst with pitfall and with gin
> 	Beset the Road I was to wander in,
> 	Thou will not with Predestin'd Evil round
> 	Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin?
> LXXII.
> 	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!
> LXXIII.
> 	Listen again.  One Evening at the Close
> 	Of Ramazan, ere the better Moon arose,
> 	In that old Potter's Shop I stood alone
> 	With the clay Population round in Rows.
> LXXIV.
> 	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?"
> LXXV.
> 	Then said another -- "Surely not in vain
> 	My Substance from the common Earth was ta'en,
> 	That He who subtly wrought me into Shape
> 	Should stamp me back to common Earth again."
> LXXVI.
> 	Another said -- "Why, ne'er a peevish Boy,
> 	Would break the Bowl from which he drank in Joy;
> 	Shall He that made the vessel in pure Love
> 	And Fancy, in an after Rage destroy?"
> LXXVII.
> 	None answer'd this; but after Silence spake
> 	A Vessel of a more ungainly Make:
> 	"They sneer at me for leaning all awry;
> 	What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?"
> LXXVIII:
> 	"Why," said another, "Some there are who tell
> 	Of one who threatens he will toss to Hell
> 	The luckless Pots he marred in making -- Pish!
> 	He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well."
> LXXIX.
> 	Then said another with a long-drawn Sigh,
> 	"My Clay with long oblivion is gone dry:
> 	But, fill me with the old familiar Juice,
> 	Methinks I might recover by-and-by!"
> LXXX.
> 	So while the Vessels one by one were speaking,
> 	The Little Moon look'd in that all were seeking:
> 	And then they jogg'd each other, "Brother! Brother!
> 	Now for the Porter's shoulder-knot a-creaking!"
> LXXXI.
> 	Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide,
> 	And wash my Body whence the Life has died,
> 	And in a Windingsheet of Vine-leaf wrapt,
> 	So bury me by some sweet Garden-side.
> LXXXII.
> 	That ev'n my buried Ashes such a Snare
> 	Of Perfume shall fling up into the Air,
> 	As not a True Believer passing by
> 	But shall be overtaken unaware.
> LXXXIII.
> 	Indeed the Idols I have loved so long
> 	Have done my Credit in Men's Eye much wrong:
> 	Have drown'd my Honour in a shallow Cup,
> 	And sold my Reputation for a Song.
> LXXXIV.
> 	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.
> LXXXV.
> 	And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel,
> 	And robb'd me of my Robe of Honor -- well,
> 	I often wonder what the Vintners buy
> 	One half so precious as the Goods they sell.
> LXXXVI.
> 	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!
> LXXXVII.
> 	Would but the Desert of the Fountain yield
> 	One glimpse -- If dimly, yet indeed, reveal'd
> 	To which the fainting Traveller might spring,
> 	As springs the trampled herbage of the field!
> LXXXVIII.
> 	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!
> LXXXIX.
> 	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!
> XC.
> 	And when like her, oh Saki, you shall pass
> 	Among the Guests star-scatter'd on the Grass,
> 	And in your joyous errand reach the spot
> 	Where I made one -- turn down an empty Glass!
> 
> TAMAM SHUD
>
> — *Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (Edward Fitzgerald tr)*