|
| Lo! some we loved, the loveliest and
best |
| That Time and Fate of all their Vintage
prest, |
Have drunk their Cup
a Round or two before, |
| And one by one crept silently to Rest. |
|
| 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! |
|
| Why, all the Saints and Sages who
discuss'd |
| Of the Two Worlds so learnedly, are
thrust |
| Like foolish Prophets
forth; their Words to scorn |
| Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are
stopt with Dust |
|
| Myself when young did eagerly frequent |
| Doctor and Saint, and heard great
Argument |
About
it and about, but evermore |
| Came out by the same Door as in I went. |
|
| Into this Universe, and why not
knowing, |
| Nor whence, like Water willy-nilly
flowing! |
And out of it, as
Wind along the Waste, |
| i know not whither, willy-nilly
blowing. |
|
| Up from Earth's Centre through the
Seventh Gate |
| I rose, and on the Throne of Saturn
sate, |
And many Knots
unravel'd by the Road; |
| But not the Knot of Human Death and
Fate. |
|
| The to the rolling Heav'n itself I
cried, |
| Asking, "What Lamp had Destiny to
guide |
Her little Children
stumbling in the Dark?" |
| And-"A blind Understanding!"
Heav'n replied. |
|
| I think the vessel, that with fugitive |
| Articulation answer'd, once did live, |
And merry-make; and
the cold Lip I kiss'd |
| How many Kisses might it take-and give! |
|
| Ah, fill the Cup:-what boots it to
repeat |
| How time is slipping underneath our
Feet: |
Unborn To-morrow and
dead Yesterday, |
| Why fret about them if To-day be sweet! |
|
| How long, how long, in infinite Pursuit
|
| Of this and That endeavour and dispute? |
Better be merry with
the fruitful Grape |
| Than sadden after none, or bitter,
Fruit. |
|
|
|
| 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? |
|
| Alike for those who for
To-day prepare, |
| And those that after a
To-morrow stare, |
A
Muezzín from the Tower of Darkness cries, |
| "Fools!your Reward is
neither Here nor There!" |
|
| Oh, come with old Khayyám,
and leave the Wise |
| To talk; one thing is
certain, that Life flies; |
| One thing is
certain, and the Rest is Lies; |
The
flower that once has blown for ever dies. |
|
| With them the Seed of
Wisdom did I sow, |
| And with my own hand
labour'd it to grow: |
And
this was all the harvest that I reap'd- |
| "I came like Water,
and like Wind I go." |
|
| What, without asking,
hither hurried whence? |
| And, without asking,
whither hurried hence! |
Another and another Cup to drown |
| The memory of this
Impertinence! |
|
| There was a Door to which I
found no Key: |
| There was a Veil past which
I could not see: |
Some
little Talk awhile of Me and Thee |
| There seemed-and then no
more of Thee and Me. |
|
| Then to this earthen Bowl
did I adjourn |
| My Lip the secret Well of
Life to learn: |
and Lip
to Lip it murmur'd-"While you live |
| Drink!-for once dead you
never shall return." |
|
| For in the Market-place,
one Dusk of Day, |
| I watch'd the Potter
thumping his wet Clay: |
And with
its all obliterated Tongue |
| it murmur'd-"Gently,
Brother, gently, pray!" |
|
| One Moment in
Annihilation's Waste, |
| One Moment, of the Well of
Life to taste- |
The Stars
are setting and the Caravan |
| Starts for the Dawn of
Nothing-Oh, make haste! |
|
| 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 Spouce. |
|
|
