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Omar Khayyam

  Iram indeed is gone with all his Rose,
 
And Jamshyd’s Sev’n-ring’d Cup where no one knows;
 
But still a Ruby kindles in the Vine,
 
And many a Garden by the Water blows.
 
 
 
  And David’s lips are lockt;
 
but in divine High-piping Pehlevi,
 
with Wine! Wine! Wine! Red Wine!
 
–the Nightingale cries to the Rose
 
That sallow cheek of hers to’ incarnadine.
 
 
 Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring
 
Your Winter garment of Repentance fling:
 
The Bird of Time has but a little way To flutter
 
–and the Bird is on the Wing.
 
 
 
  Whether at Naishapur or Babylon,
 
Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run,
 
The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop,
 
The Leaves of Life keep falling one by one

(Rubaiyat verse 5-8)