510 lines
26 KiB
Plaintext
510 lines
26 KiB
Plaintext
1120
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THE RUBAIYAT
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by Omar Khyyam
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I
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WAKE! For the Sun, who scatter'd into flight
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The Stars before him from the Field of Night,
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Drives Night along with them from Heav'n, and strikes
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The Sultan's Turret with a Shaft of Light.
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II
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Before the phantom of False morning died,
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Methought a Voice within the Tavern cried,
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"When all the Temple is prepared within,
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Why nods the drowsy Worshipper outside?"
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III
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And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before
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The Tavern shouted--"Open then the Door!
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You know how little while we have to stay,
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And, once departed, may return no more."
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IV
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Now the New Year reviving old Desires,
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The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,
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Where the White Hand Of Moses on the Bough
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Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.
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V
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Iram indeed is gone with all his Rose,
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And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;
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But still a Ruby kindles in the Vine,
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And many a Garden by the Water blows,
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VI
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And David's lips are lockt; but in divine
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High-piping Pehlevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!
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Red Wine!"--the Nightingale cries to the Rose
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That sallow cheek of hers t' incarnadine.
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VII
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Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring
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Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling:
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The Bird of Time bas but a little way
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To flutter--and the Bird is on the Wing.
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VIII
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Whether at Naishapur or Babylon,
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Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run,
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The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop,
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The Leaves of Life keep falling one by one.
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IX
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Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say;
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Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?
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And this first Summer month that brings the Rose
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Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.
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X
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Well, let it take them! What have we to do
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With Kaikobad the Great, or Kaikhosru?
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Let Zal and Rustum bluster as they will,
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Or Hatim call to Supper--heed not you
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XI
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With me along the strip of Herbage strown
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That just divides the desert from the sown,
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Where name of Slave and Sultan is forgot--
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And Peace to Mahmud on his golden Throne!
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XII
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A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,
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A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread--and Thou
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Beside me singing in the Wilderness--
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Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!
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XIII
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Some for the Glories of This World; and some
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Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come;
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Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go,
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Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!
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XIV
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Look to the blowing Rose about us--"Lo,
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Laughing," she says, "into the world I blow,
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At once the silken tassel of my Purse
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Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."
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XV
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And those who husbanded the Golden grain,
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And those who flung it to the winds like Rain,
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Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn'd
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As, buried once, Men want dug up again.
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XVI
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The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon
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Turns Ashes--or it prospers; and anon,
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Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face,
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Lighting a little hour or two--is gone.
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XVII
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Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai
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Whose Portals are alternate Night and Day,
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How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp
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Abode his destined Hour, and went his way.
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XVIII
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They say the Lion and the Lizard keep
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The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep:
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And Bahram, that great Hunter--the Wild Ass
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Stamps o'er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep.
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XIX
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I sometimes think that never blows so red
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The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled;
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That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
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Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head.
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X
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And this reviving Herb whose tender Green
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Fledges the River-Lip on which we lean--
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Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows
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From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!
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XXI
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Ah, my Belov'ed fill the Cup that clears
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To-day Past Regrets and Future Fears:
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To-morrow!--Why, To-morrow I may be
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Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years.
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XXII
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For some we loved, the loveliest and the best
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That from his Vintage rolling Time hath prest,
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Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,
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And one by one crept silently to rest.
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XXIII
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And we, that now make merry in the Room
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They left, and Summer dresses in new bloom
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Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth
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Descend--ourselves to make a Couch--for whom?
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XXIV
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Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
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Before we too into the Dust descend;
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Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie
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Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and--sans End!
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XXV
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Alike for those who for To-day prepare,
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And those that after some To-morrow stare,
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A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries
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"Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There."
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XXVI
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Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd
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Of the Two Worlds so wisely--they are thrust
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Like foolish Prophets forth; their Words to Scorn
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Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.
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XXVII
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Myself when young did eagerly frequent
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Doctor and Saint, and heard great argument
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About it and about: but evermore
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Came out by the same door where in I went.
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XXVIII
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With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow,
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And with mine own hand wrought to make it grow;
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And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd--
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"I came like Water, and like Wind I go."
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XXIX
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Into this Universe, and Why not knowing
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Nor Whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing;
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And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
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I know not Whither, willy-nilly blowing.
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XXX
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What, without asking, hither hurried Whence?
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And, without asking, Whither hurried hence!
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Oh, many a Cup of this forbidden Wine
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Must drown the memory of that insolence!
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XXXI
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Up from Earth's Centre through the Seventh Gate
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rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate;
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And many a Knot unravel'd by the Road;
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But not the Master-knot of Human Fate.
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XXXII
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There was the Door to which I found no Key;
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There was the Veil through which I might not see:
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Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee
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There was--and then no more of Thee and Me.
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XXXIII
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Earth could not answer; nor the Seas that mourn
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In flowing Purple, of their Lord forlorn;
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Nor rolling Heaven, with all his Signs reveal'd
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And hidden by the sleeve of Night and Morn.
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XXXIV
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Then of the Thee in Me works behind
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The Veil, I lifted up my hands to find
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A Lamp amid the Darkness; and I heard,
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As from Without--"The Me Within Thee Blind!"
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XXXV
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Then to the lip of this poor earthen Urn
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I lean'd, the Secret of my Life to learn:
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And Lip to Lip it murmur'd--"While you live
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Drink!--for, once dead, you never shall return."
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XXXVI
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I think the Vessel, that with fugitive
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Articulation answer'd, once did live,
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And drink; and Ah! the passive Lip I kiss'd,
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How many Kisses might it take--and give!
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XXXVII
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For I remember stopping by the way
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To watch a Potter thumping his wet Clay:
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And with its all-obliterated Tongue
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It murmur'd--"Gently, Brother, gently, pray!"
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XXXVIII
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And has not such a Story from of Old
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Down Man's successive generations roll'd
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Of such a clod of saturated Earth
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Cast by the Maker into Human mould?
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XXXIX
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And not a drop that from our Cups we throw
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For Earth to drink of, but may steal below
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To quench the fire of Anguish in some Eye
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There hidden--far beneath, and long ago.
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XL
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As then the Tulip for her morning sup
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Of Heav'nly Vintage from the soil looks up,
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Do you devoutly do the like, till Heav'n
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To Earth invert you--like an empty Cup.
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XLI
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Perplext no more with Human or Divine,
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To-morrow's tangle to the winds resign,
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And lose your fingers in the tresses of
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The Cypress--slender Minister of Wine.
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XLII
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And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press
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End in what All begins and ends in--Yes;
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Think then you are To-day what Yesterday
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You were--To-morrow You shall not be less.
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XLIII
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So when that Angel of the darker Drink
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At last shall find you by the river-brink,
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And, offering his Cup, invite your Soul
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Forth to your Lips to quaff--you shall not shrink.
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XLIV
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Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside,
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And naked on the Air of Heaven ride,
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Were't not a Shame--were't not a Shame for him
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In this clay carcase crippled to abide?
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XLV
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'Tis but a Tent where takes his one day's rest
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A Sultan to the realm of Death addrest;
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The Sultan rises, and the dark Ferrash
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Strikes, and prepares it for another Guest.
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XLVI
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And fear not lest Existence closing your
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Account, and mine, should know the like no more;
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The Eternal Saki from that Bowl has pour'd
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Millions of Bubbles like us, and will pour.
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XLVII
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When You and I behind the Veil are past,
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Oh, but the long, long while the World shall last,
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Which of our Coming and Departure heeds
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As the Sea's self should heed a pebble-cast.
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XLVIII
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A Moment's Halt--a momentary taste
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Of Being from the Well amid the Waste--
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And Lo!--the phantom Caravan has reach'd
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The Nothing it set out from--Oh, make haste!
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XLIX
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Would you that spangle of Existence spend
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About the Secret--Quick about it, Friend!
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A Hair perhaps divides the False and True--
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And upon what, prithee, may life depend?
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L
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A Hair perhaps divides the False and True;
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Yes; and a single Alif were the clue--
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Could you but find it--to the Treasure-house,
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And peradventure to The Master too;
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LI
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Whose secret Presence, through Creation's veins
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Running Quicksilver-like eludes your pains;
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Taking all shapes from Mah to Mahi; and
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They change and perish all--but He remains;
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LII
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A moment guess'd--then back behind the Fold
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Immerst of Darkness round the Drama roll'd
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Which, for the Pastime of Eternity,
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He doth Himself contrive, enact, behold.
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LIII
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But if in vain, down on the stubborn floor
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Of Earth, and up to Heav'n's unopening Door
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You gaze To-day, while You are You--how then
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To-morrow, You when shall be You no more?
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LIV
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Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuit
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Of This and That endeavour and dispute;
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Better be jocund with the fruitful Grape
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Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.
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LV
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You know, my Friends, with what a brave Carouse
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I made a Second Marriage in my house;
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Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed
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And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse.
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LVI
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For "Is" and "Is-not" though with Rule and Line
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And "Up" and "Down" by Logic I define,
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Of all that one should care to fathom,
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Was never deep in anything but--Wine.
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LVII
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Ah, but my Computations, People say,
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Reduced the Year to better reckoning?--Nay
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'Twas only striking from the Calendar
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Unborn To-morrow, and dead Yesterday.
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LVIII
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And lately, by the Tavern Door agape,
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Came shining through the Dusk an Angel Shape
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Bearing a Vessel on his Shoulder; and
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He bid me taste of it; and 'twas--the Grape!
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LIX
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The Grape that can with Logic absolute
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The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute:
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The sovereign Alchemist that in a trice
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Life's leaden metal into Gold transmute:
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LX
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The mighty Mahmud, Allah-breathing Lord
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That all the misbelieving and black Horde
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Of Fears and Sorrows that infest the Soul
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Scatters before him with his whirlwind Sword.
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LXI
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Why, be this Juice the growth of God, who dare
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Blaspheme the twisted tendril as a Snare?
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A Blessing, we should use it, should we not?
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And if a Curse--why, then, Who set it there?
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LXII
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I must abjure the Balm of Life, I must,
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Scared by some After-reckoning ta'en on trust,
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Or lured with Hope of some Diviner Drink,
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To fill the Cup--when crumbled into Dust!
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LXIII
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Oh, threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise!
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One thing at least is certain--This Life flies;
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One thing is certain and the rest is Lies;
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The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.
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LXIV
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Strange, is it not? that of the myriads who
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Before us pass'd the door of Darkness through,
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Not one returns to tell us of the Road,
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Which to discover we must travel too.
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LXV
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The Revelations of Devout and Learn'd
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Who rose before us, and as Prophets burn'd,
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Are all but Stories, which, awoke from Sleep,
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They told their comrades, and to Sleep return'd.
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LXVI
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I sent my Soul through the Invisible,
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Some letter of that After-life to spell:
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And by and by my Soul return'd to me,
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And answer'd "I Myself am Heav'n and Hell:"
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LXVII
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Heav'n but the Vision of fulfill'd Desire,
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And Hell the Shadow from a Soul on fire,
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Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves,
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So late emerged from, shall so soon expire.
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LXVIII
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We are no other than a moving row
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Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go
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Round with the Sun-illumined Lantern held
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In Midnight by the Master of the Show;
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LXIX
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But helpless Pieces of the Game He plays
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Upon this Chequer-board of Nights and Days;
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Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays,
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And one by one back in the Closet lays.
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LX
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The Ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes,
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But Here or There as strikes the Player goes;
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And He that toss'd you down into the Field,
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He knows about it all--He knows--HE knows!
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LXXI
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The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
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Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
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Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
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Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.
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LXXII
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And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky,
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Whereunder crawling coop'd we live and die,
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Lift not your hands to It for help--for It
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As impotently moves as you or I.
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LXXIII
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With Earth's first Clay They did the Last Man knead,
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And there of the Last Harvest sow'd the Seed:
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And the first Morning of Creation wrote
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What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.
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LXXIV
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Yesterday This Day's Madness did prepare;
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To-morrow's Silence, Triumph, or Despair:
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Drink! for you know not whence you came, nor why:
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Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where.
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LXXV
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I tell you this--When, started from the Goal,
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Over the flaming shoulders of the Foal
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Of Heav'n Parwin and Mushtari they flung
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In my predestined Plot of Dust and Soul.
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LXXVI
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The Vine had struck a fibre: which about
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If clings my being--let the Dervish flout;
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Of my Base metal may be filed a Key,
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That shall unlock the Door he howls without.
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LXXVII
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And this I know: whether the one True Light
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Kindle to Love, or Wrath-consume me quite,
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One Flash of It within the Tavern caught
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Better than in the Temple lost outright.
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LXXVIII
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What! out of senseless Nothing to provoke
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A conscious Something to resent the yoke
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Of unpermitted Pleasure, under pain
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Of Everlasting Penalties, if broke!
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LXXIX
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What! from his helpless Creature be repaid
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Pure Gold for what he lent him dross-allay'd--
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Sue for a Debt he never did contract,
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And cannot answer--Oh, the sorry trade!
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LXXX
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Oh, Thou, who didst with pitfall and with gin
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Beset the Road I was to wander in,
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Thou wilt not with Predestined Evil round
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Enmesh, and then impute my Fall to Sin!
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LXXXI
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Oh, Thou who Man of baser Earth didst make,
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And ev'n with Paradise devise the Snake:
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For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man
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Is blacken'd--Man's forgiveness give--and take!
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LXXXII
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As under cover of departing Day
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Slunk hunger-stricken Ramazan away,
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Once more within the Potter's house alone
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I stood, surrounded by the Shapes of Clay.
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LXXXIII
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Shapes of all Sorts and Sizes, great and small,
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That stood along the floor and by the wall;
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And some loquacious Vessels were; and some
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Listen'd perhaps, but never talk'd at all.
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LXXXIV
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Said one among them--"Surely not in vain
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My substance of the common Earth was ta'en
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And to this Figure moulded, to be broke,
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Or trampled back to shapeless Earth again."
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LXXXV
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Then said a Second--"Ne'er a peevish Boy
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Would break the Bowl from which he drank in joy,
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And He that with his hand the Vessel made
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Will surely not in after Wrath destroy."
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LXXXVI
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After a momentary silence spake
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Some Vessel of a more ungainly Make;
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"They sneer at me for leaning all awry:
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What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?"
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LXXXVII
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Whereat some one of the loquacious Lot--
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I think a Sufi pipkin-waxing hot--
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"All this of Pot and Potter--Tell me then,
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Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?"
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LXXXVIII
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"Why," said another, "Some there are who tell
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Of one who threatens he will toss to Hell
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The luckless Pots he marr'd in making--Pish!
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He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well."
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LXXXIX
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"Well," Murmur'd one, "Let whoso make or buy,
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My Clay with long Oblivion is gone dry:
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But fill me with the old familiar juice,
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Methinks I might recover by and by."
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XC
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So while the Vessels one by one were speaking,
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The little Moon look'd in that all were seeking:
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And then they jogg'd each other, "Brother! Brother!
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Now for the Porter's shoulder-knot a-creaking!"
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XCI
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Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide,
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And wash the Body whence the Life has died,
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And lay me, shrouded in the living Leaf,
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By some not unfrequented Garden-side.
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XCII
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That ev'n my buried Ashes such a snare
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Of Vintage shall fling up into the Air
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As not a True-believer passing by
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But shall be overtaken unaware.
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XCIII
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Indeed the Idols I have loved so long
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Have done my credit in this World much wrong:
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Have drown'd my Glory in a shallow Cup
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And sold my Reputation for a Song.
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XCIV
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Indeed, indeed, Repentance of before
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I swore--but was I sober when I swore?
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And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand
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My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore.
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XCV
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And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel,
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And robb'd me of my Robe of Honour--Well,
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I wonder often what the Vintners buy
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One half so precious as the stuff they sell.
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XCVI
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|
Yet Ah, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!
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That Youth's sweet-scented manuscript should close!
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The Nightingale that in the branches sang,
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Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows!
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|
XCVII
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|
Would but the Desert of the Fountain yield
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|
One glimpse--if dimly, yet indeed, reveal'd,
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|
To which the fainting Traveller might spring,
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|
As springs the trampled herbage of the field!
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|
XCVIII
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|
Would but some wing'ed Angel ere too late
|
|
Arrest the yet unfolded Roll of Fate,
|
|
And make the stern Recorder otherwise
|
|
Enregister, or quite obliterate!
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|
XCIX
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|
Ah, Love! could you and I with Him 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!
|
|
C
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|
Yon rising Moon that looks for us again--
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|
How oft hereafter will she wax and wane;
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|
How oft hereafter rising look for us
|
|
Through this same Garden--and for one in vain!
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|
CI
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|
And when like her, oh, Saki, you shall pass
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|
Among the Guests Star-scatter'd on the Grass,
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|
And in your joyous errand reach the spot
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|
Where I made One--turn down an empty Glass!
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|
TAMAM
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