119 quotes
Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse — and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness —
And Wilderness is Paradise enow.
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
One half so precious as the stuff they sell.
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
And when like her, oh, Saki, you shall pass.
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
That sallow cheek of hers to' incarnadine.
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
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.
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
I wonder often what the Vintners buy
One half so precious as the stuff they sell.
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
Stamps o'er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep.
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky.
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
For some we loved, the loveliest and the best
That from his Vintage rolling Time hath prest.
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
Came out by the same Door where in I went.
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
Ah Love! could you and I with Him conspire.
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
The mighty Mahmud, Allah-breathing Lord
That all the misbelieving and black Horde
Of Fears and Sorrows that infest the Soul
Scatters before him with his whirlwind Sword.
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
The Grape that can with Logic absolute
The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute.
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
Oh, many a Cup of this forbidden Wine
Must drown the memory of that insolence!
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
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.
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
After a momentary silence spake
Some Vessel of a more ungainly Make;
"They sneer at me for leaning all awry:
What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?"
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say;
Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
Yet Ah, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
But Here or There as strikes the Player goes.
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)
One Flash of It within the Tavern caught.
FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859)