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APPENDIX Becher better bien Bodenstedt bois bring c'est clay comes Compare contains coupe dans death divine drink dust earth edition English existence eyes face fair faith fear FitzGerald Garner give hand hast hath heart heaven hold hope jour king leave Leben live Lord McCarthy monde n'est never nicht Nicolas night Omar Omar Khayyam Omar's once original pass Persian poem poet quatrains rest rose Rubá'iy Rubaiyát sage says Schack secrets sleep soul stanza sweet tavern tell thee thine things thou thought tion tomb translation Trink truth turn verse versions viel VIII Wein Welt Whinfield wind wine wise
Страница 357 - Nay but, O man, who art thou that repliest against God? Shall the thing formed say to him that formed it, Why hast thou made me thus? Hath not the potter power over the clay, of the same lump to make one vessel unto honour, and another unto dishonour?
Страница 358 - Into a narrow act, Fancies that broke through language and escaped; All I could never be, All, men ignored in me, This, I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped.
Страница 273 - Go thy way, eat thy bread with joy, and drink thy wine with a merry heart; for God now accepteth thy works.
Страница 378 - Wherefore I praised the dead which are already dead more than the living which are yet alive. Yea, better is he than both they, which hath not yet been, who hath not seen the evil work that is done under the sun.
Страница 277 - To move, but doth, if th' other do. And though it in the center sit, Yet when the other far doth roam, It leans, and hearkens after it, And grows erect, as that comes home. Such wilt thou be to me, who must Like th' other foot, obliquely run; Thy firmness makes my circle just, And makes me end, where I begun.
Страница 451 - He who has a thousand friends has not a friend to spare, And he who has one enemy shall meet him everywhere.
Страница 250 - For the living know that they shall die : but the dead know not anything, neither have they any more a reward ; for the memory of them is forgotten. Also their love, and their hatred, and their envy, is now perished ; neither have they any more a portion for ever in anything that is done under the sun.
Страница 208 - Ere the blabbing eastern scout, The nice Morn on the Indian steep, From her cabined loop-hole peep, 140 And to the tell-tale Sun descry Our concealed solemnity.