Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

Omar Khayyam

• Publisher: pubOne.info
• Year: 2010
• eBook ISBN: 9782819924142
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Classics
• Index: Literature

pubOne.info thank you for your continued support and wish to present you this new edition. Omar Khayyam was born at Naishapur in Khorassan in the latter half of our Eleventh, and died within the First Quarter of our Twelfth Century. The Slender Story of his Life is curiously twined about that of two other very considerable Figures in their Time and Country: one of whom tells the Story of all Three. This was Nizam ul Mulk, Vizier to Alp Arslan the Son, and Malik Shah the Grandson, of Toghrul Beg the Tartar, who had wrested Persia from the feeble Successor of Mahmud the Great, and founded that Seljukian Dynasty which finally roused Europe into the Crusades. This Nizam ul Mulk, in his Wasiyat- or Testament- which he wrote and left as a Memorial for future Statesmen- relates the following, as quoted in the Calcutta Review, No. 59, from Mirkhond's History of the Assassins.

Fifth Edition

I.

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.

II.

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? ”

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 his Rose,

And Jamshyd'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.

VI.

And David's lips are lockt; but in divine

High-piping Pehlevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!

“Red Wine! ”— the Nightingale cries to the Rose

That sallow cheek of hers to' incarnadine.

VII.

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.

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 keep falling one by one.

IX.

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 Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.

X.

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.

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 to 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 Credit go,

Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!

XIV.

Look to the blowing Rose 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. "

XV.

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.

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.

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.

XVIII.

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.

XIX.

I sometimes think that never blows so red

The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled;

That every Hyacinth the Garden wears

D...

Table of contents

• RUBAIYAT OF OMAR KHAYYAM
• Introduction
• Footnotes:
• First Edition
• Fifth Edition
• Notes:
• Copyright