119 quotes
And ev'n with Paradise devise the Snake.
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
Said one among them — "Surely not in vain
My substance of the common Earth was ta'en
And to this Figure moulded, to be broke,
Or trampled back to shapeless Earth again."
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
What! from his helpless Creature be repaid
Pure Gold for what he lent him dross-allay'd —
Sue for a Debt he never did contract,
And cannot answer — Oh, the sorry trade!
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
Thou wilt not with Predestined Evil round
Enmesh, and then impute my Fall to Sin!
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
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.
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
As impotently moves as you or I.
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
I sometimes think that never blows so red
The Rose as where some buried Cæsar bled;
That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head.
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
And this reviving Herb whose tender Green
Fledges the River-Lip on which we lean —
Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows
From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd
Of the Two Worlds so wisely — they are thrust.
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
And look — a thousand Blossoms with the Day
Woke — and a thousand scatter'd into Clay.
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
But still a Ruby kindles in the Vine,
And many a Garden by the Water blows.
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
'Tis but a Tent where takes his one day's rest
A Sultan to the realm of Death addrest;
The Sultan rises, and the dark Ferrash
Strikes, and prepares it for another Guest.
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
Heav'n but the Vision of fulfill'd Desire,
And Hell the Shadow from a Soul on fire,
Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves,
So late emerged from, shall so soon expire.
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
'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.
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
Shapes of all Sorts and Sizes, great and small,
That stood along the floor and by the wall;
And some loquacious Vessels were; and some
Listen'd perhaps, but never talk'd at all.
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
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 for ever dies.
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
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.
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
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.
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
What, without asking, hither hurried whence?
And, without asking, whither hurried hence!
Another and another Cup to drown
The Memory of this Impertinence!
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
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.
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)