THE RUBAIYAT OF OMAR KHAYYAM

by Edward FitzGerald

51

A Hair perhaps 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;

52

Whose secret Presence, through Creation’s veins

Running Quicksilver-like eludes your pains;

Taking all shapes from Mah to Mahi; and

They change and perish all — but He remains.

53

A moment guess’d — then back behind the Fold

Immerst of Darkness round the Drama roll’d

Which, for the Pastime of Eternity,

He doth Himself contrive, enact, behold.

54

But if in vain, down on the stubborn floor

Of Earth, and up to Heav’n’s unopening Door

You gaze TODAY, while You are You — how then

TOMORROW when You shall be You no more?

55

Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuit

Of This and That endeavour and dispute;

Better be merry with the fruitful grape

Than sadden after none, or bitter, fruit.

56

You know, my Friends, how long since in my House

For a new Marriage I did make Carouse:

Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed,

And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse.

57

For “IS” and “IS-NOT” though with Rule and Line,

And “UP-AND-DOWN” without, I could define,

Of all that one should care to fathom,

I Was never deep in anything but – Wine.

58

Ah, but my Computations, People say,

Reduced the Year to better reckoning?–Nay,

‘Twas only striking from the Calendar

Unborn To-morrow, and dead Yesterday.

59

And lately, by the Tavern Door agape,

Came stealing through the Dusk an Angel Shape

Bearing a Vessel on his Shoulder; and

He bid me taste of it; and ’twas–the Grape!

60

The Grape that can with Logic absolute

The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute:

The subtle Alchemist that [can] in a Trice

Life’s leaden Metal into Gold transmute