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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=374737" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>From The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám, I: 1-3, V: 12-15, 19-24, 71-72</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">1</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Wake! For the Sun, who scattered into flight<br>The Stars before him from the Field of Night,<br>Drives Night along with them from Heav'n and strikes<br>The Sult&aacute;n's Turret with a Shaft of Light.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> 2</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Before the phantom of False morning died,<br>Methought a Voice within the Tavern cried,<br>&quot;When all the Temple is prepared within,<br>Why nods the drowsy Worshiper outside?&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> 3</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before<br>The Tavern shouted--&quot;Open, then, the Door!<br>You know how little while we have to stay,<br>And, once departed, may return no more.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> 12</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,<br>A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread--and Thou<br>Beside me singing in the Wilderness<br>Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> 13</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Some for the Glories of This World; and some<br>Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come;<br>Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go,<br>Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> 14</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Look to the blowing Rose about us--&quot;Lo,<br>Laughing,&quot; she says, &quot;into the world I blow,<br>At once the silken tassel of my Purse<br>Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> 15</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And those who husbanded the Golden Grain,<br>And those who flung it to the winds like Rain,<br>Alike to no such aureate Earth are turned<br>As, buried once, Men want dug up again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> 19</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I sometimes think that never blows so red<br>The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled;<br>That every Hyacinth the Garden wears<br>Dropped in her Lap from some once lovely Head.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> 20</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And this reviving Herb whose tender Green<br>Fledges the River-Lip on which we lean--<br>Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows <br>From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> 21</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah, my Belov&eacute;d, fill the Cup that clears<br>Today of past Regrets and future Fears:<br>Tomorrow!--Why, Tomorrow I may be<br>Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n thousand Years.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> 22</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For some we loved, the loveliest and the best<br>That from his Vintage rolling Time hath pressed,<br>Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,<br>And one by one crept silently to rest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> 23</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And we, that now make merry in the Room<br>They left, and Summer dresses in new bloom,<br>Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth<br>Descend--ourselves to make a Couch--for whom?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> 24</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,<br>Before we too into the Dust descend;<br>Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie,<br>Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and--sans End!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> 71</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Moving Finger writes, and, having writ,<br>Moves on; nor all your Piety nor Wit<br>Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,<br>Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> 72</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky,<br>Whereunder crawlingcooped we live and die,<br>Lift not your hands to It for help--for It<br>As impotently moves as you or I.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Edward+Fitzgerald">Edward Fitzgerald</a><div class=q>
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Wake! For the Sun, who scattered into flight
The Stars before him from the Field of Night,
Drives Night along with them from Heav'n and strikes
The Sult&aacute;n's Turret with a Shaft of Light.


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Before the phantom of False morning died,
Me..."></div>
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