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ancient answer ashes asks blind Bloom blown blows Bowl Brother buried Cæsar's Clay close cried dark dead death deep Desire Diviner door doubt Draws Drink Dust Earth Easy echoing eyes Face Faith Fate Fears flame fling floor flower forever Garden gloried goes gone Grape hand Harvest Heaven holds Hour Jamshyd knowledge knows leave Life's Lift light live Look Love mortal never newer Night old Khayyam Omar once passing phantom plaint pouring pride pure question reap Reason Rest rising Rose round Rubáiyát sang scepticism secret seek sense shadow sing song soul Spring star Sultan sweet swift Tavern tell Thee thine thing Thou thousand TO-DAY TO-MORROW True truth turn unfaith unseen veil Vessel Vine voice Waste whence Wind Wine Wisdom's Wise World YESTERDAY م م م
Страница 54 - 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 49 - AWAKE! for Morning in the Bowl of Night Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight : And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light.
Страница 62 - 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 50 - And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before The Tavern shouted — "Open then the Door ! "You know how little while we have to stay, "And, once departed, may return no more.
Страница 53 - 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 52 - 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 58 - 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 50 - 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.