Edward Fitzgerald: From ‘Rhubaiyat of Omar Khayyam’

Lyrics

Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide And wash my Body whence the Life has died And in a Windingsheet of Vine-leaf wrapt So bury me by some sweet Garden-side That ev'n my buried Ashes such a Snare Of Perfume shall fling up into the Air As not a True Believer passing by But shall be overtaken unaware Indeed the Idols I have lov'd so long Have done my Credit in Men's Eye much wrong: Have drown'd my Honour in a shallow Cup And sold my Reputation for a Song Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before I swore—but was I sober when I swore? And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel And robb'd me of my Robe of Honour—well I often wonder what the Vintners buy One half so precious as the Goods they sell Alas, 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! Ah Love! could thou and I with Fate conspire To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire Would not we shatter it to bits—and then Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire! Ah, Moon of my Delight who know'st no wane The Moon of Heav'n is rising once again: How oft hereafter rising shall she look Through this same Garden after me in vain! And when Thyself with shining Foot shall pass Among the Guests Star-scatter'd on the Grass And in thy joyous Errand reach the Spot Where I made one—turn down an empty Glass!