Rubáiyát of Omar Khayy ́am: English, French, and German Translations Comparatively Arranged in Accordance with the Text of Edward Fitzgerald's Version, Том 1

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Joseph Knight Company, 1896
 

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Страница cxxviii - But the souls of the righteous are in the hand of God, and there shall no torment touch them. In the sight of the unwise they seemed to die: and their departure is taken for misery. And their going from us to be utter destruction: but they are in peace.
Страница clxxviii - Ah Love! could you and I with Him conspire To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire, Would not we shatter it to bits — and then Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!
Страница xlviii - Oh threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise! One thing at least is certain— This Life flies; One thing is certain and the rest is Lies; The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.
Страница cxiv - Oh Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make, And ev'n with Paradise devise the Snake: For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man Is blacken'd — Man's forgiveness give — and take!
Страница 32 - 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 clxvii - Hair, they say, divides the False and True; Yes; and a single Alif were the clue — Could you but find it — to the Treasure-house, And peradventure to THE MASTER too...
Страница clix - A Book of Verses underneath the Bough, A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread — and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness — Oh ! Wilderness were Paradise enow ! XII " How sweet is mortal Sovrainty ! " — think some ; Others " How blest the Paradise to come!
Страница clxiii - 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.
Страница clxi - And we, that now make merry in the Room They left, and Summer dresses in new bloom, Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth Descend — ourselves to make a Couch — for whom...
Страница clxv - For I remember stopping by the way To watch a Potter thumping his wet Clay: And with its all-obliterated Tongue It murmur'd — "Gently, Brother, gently, pray!

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