|John Bartlett (18201905). Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. 1919.|
|Omar Khayyam. (fl. 11th cent.)|
| 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 Moments Halta momentary taste|
Of BEING from the Well amid the Waste
And, Lo! the phantom Caravan has reachd
The NOTHING it set out from. Oh, make haste!
| Rubáiyát. Stanza xlviii.|
| Heavn but the Vision of fulfilld 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-scatterd on the Grass,
And in your blissful errand reach the spot
Where I made Oneturn down an empty Glass.
| Rubáiyát. Stanza ci.|