Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám: And the Salámán and Ábsál of Jámí

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Bernard Quaritch, 1879 - 112 страница
 

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Страница 2 - Some for the Glories of this World; and some Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come; Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go, Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum! Look to the blowing Rose about us — "Lo, Laughing...
Страница 2 - 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!
Страница 5 - 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...
Страница xvi - 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 1 - Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say; Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday? And this first Summer month that brings the Rose Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.
Страница 16 - But helpless Pieces of the Game He plays Upon this Chequer-board of Nights and Days ; Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays, And one by one back in the Closet lays.
Страница 20 - Ne'er a peevish Boy Would break the Bowl from which he drank in joy; And He that with his hand the Vessel made Will surely not in after Wrath destroy.' LXXXVI After a momentary silence spake Some Vessel of a more ungainly Make; 'They sneer at me for leaning all awry: What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?
Страница 28 - The Palace that to Heav'n his pillars threw, And Kings the forehead on his threshold drew — I saw the solitary Ringdove there, And ' Coo, coo, coo,' she cried ; and
Страница 4 - 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 26 - The seasons alter : hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose : And on old Hyems' chin and icy crown, An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds Is, as in mockery, set.

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