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A Concordance to Fitzgerald's Translation of the Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám ...
J. R. Tutin
Приказ није доступан - 2018
Angel beneath blows Bough Bowl break Breathe Clay cried Darkness Door Drink Dust Earth Fate fire Garden gone half hand Heav'n heed Hell hour Human invites Last lean leave Lighting liii live look lovely lvii lxii lxiv lxix lxvi lxxi lxxii lxxiv lxxv Moon Morning moves never Night once Paradise pass past Potter Preface rest rising rolling Rose round Shapes Sleep Soul Spring Stars strikes Sultán talk Tavern tell THEE thing Thou TO-DAY TO-MORROW Veil Vessel viii Vine Vintage wash whence Wine World xcii xciv xcix xcvi xiii xlii xliii xliv xlix xlvi xlvii xvii xxii xxiv xxix xxvi xxviii xxxi xxxii xxxiv xxxix XXXV Yesterday
Страница 155 - And those who husbanded the Golden grain, And those who flung it to the winds like Rain, Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn'd As, buried once, Men want dug up again.
Страница 150 - 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 TOMORROW stare, A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries, "Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There.
Страница 56 - Yon rising Moon that looks for us again — How oft hereafter will she wax and wane; How oft hereafter rising look for us Through this same Garden — and for one in vain!
Страница 89 - 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 132 - LXV If but the Vine and Love-abjuring Band Are in the Prophet's Paradise to stand, Alack, I doubt the Prophet's Paradise Were empty as the hollow of one's Hand.
Страница 160 - My Clay with long Oblivion is gone dry: But fill me with the old familiar Juice, Methinks I might recover by and by.
Страница 154 - Listen — a moment listen ! — Of the same Poor Earth from which that Human Whisper came The luckless Mould in which Mankind was cast They did compose, and call'd him by the name.
Страница 111 - 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...