Omar Khayyám. —— -1123

Ali Ben Abi Taleb.[767:6] —— -660.

Believe me, a thousand friends suffice thee not;

In a single enemy thou hast more than enough.[767:7]

(Translated by Edward Fitzgerald.)

I sometimes think that never blows so red

The Rose as where some buried Cæsar bled;

That every Hyacinth the Garden wears

Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head.

Rubáiyát. Stanza xix.

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!

Rubáiyát. Stanza xlviii.

Heav'n but the Vision of fulfill'd Desire,

And Hell the Shadow of a Soul on fire.

Rubáiyát. Stanza lxvii.

The Moving Finger writes; and having writ,

Moves on; nor all your Piety nor Wit

Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,

Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.

Rubáiyát. Stanza lxxi.

And this I know: whether the one True Light

Kindle to Love, or Wrath-consume me quite,

One Flash of It within the Tavern caught

Better than in the Temple lost outright.

Rubáiyát. Stanza lxxvii.

And when like her, O Sáki, you shall pass

Among the Guests Star-scatter'd on the Grass,

And in your blissful errand reach the spot

Where I made One—turn down an empty Glass.

Rubáiyát. Stanza ci.