Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám: Rendered Into English Quatrains by E., Fitzgerald. A Reprint in Full of the First Edition, 1859, of the Second Edition, 1868, and of the Fifth Edition, 1889, Together with Notes Indicating the Minor Variants [found in the Third, 1872, and in the Fourth, 1879]

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L. C. Page, 1898 - 282 страница
 

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Страница 123 - Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend, Before we too into the Dust descend; Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie, Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and — sans End! Alike for those who for TO-DAY prepare, And those that after some TO-MORROW stare, A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries, "Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There.
Страница 127 - 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 where in I went...
Страница 129 - There was the Door to which I found no Key; There was the Veil through which I could not see: Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee There was — and then no more of Thee and Me.
Страница 177 - Yet Ah, that Spring should vanish with the Rose! That Youth's sweet-scented manuscript should close! The Nightingale that in the branches sang, Ah whence, and whither flown again, who knows!
Страница 59 - 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.
Страница 87 - With Earth's first Clay They did the Last Man knead, And there of the Last Harvest sow'd the Seed: And the first Morning of Creation wrote What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.
Страница 63 - 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.
Страница 197 - I sometimes think that never blows so red The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled; That every Hyacinth the Garden wears Dropt in her lap from some once lovely Head.
Страница 121 - For some we loved, the loveliest and the best That from his Vintage rolling Time hath prest, Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before, And one by one crept silently to rest.
Страница 161 - The Vine had struck a fibre: which about If clings my Being— let the Dervish flout; Of my Base metal may be filed a Key, That shall unlock the Door he howls without.

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