Written by
Omar Khayyam |
My heart is weary of hypocrisy,
Cupbearer, bring some wine, I beg of thee!
This hooded cowl and prayer-mat pawn for wine,
Then will I boast me in security.
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Written by
Omar Khayyam |
I came not hither of my own free will,
And go against my wish, a puppet still;
Cupbearer! gird thy loins, and fetch some wine;
To purge the world's despite, my goblet fill.
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Written by
Omar Khayyam |
Arise, get off thy bed, O cupbearer! and pour the
limpid wine. Before they yet make pitchers of our
skulls, pour out some wine from pitcher into bowl, O
cupbearer!
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Written by
Omar Khayyam |
O Friends! meet together [after my death]. Once reunited,
rejoice in being together and, when the cupbearer
takes in his hand a cup of old wine, remember poor
Khayyam and drink to his memory.
327
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Written by
Omar Khayyam |
There remains to me still a breath of life, thanks to
the care of the cupbearer. But discord reigns still among
men. I know that there only remains to me about a men
of wine from last evening, but I am ignorant of the
space of time that is still left me to live.
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Written by
Omar Khayyam |
This hypocrisy [which I everywhere see], O cupbearer!
crushes my heart with weariness. Arise, and gaily bring
me wine, O cupbearer! and to procure it, put in pawn
the prayer-rug and the turban. Perhaps my arguments
will then rest upon a solid basis.
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Written by
Omar Khayyam |
The flowers are in blossom, O cupbearer! bring wine.
Leave thy acts of worship, O cupbearer! Ere the angel
of death put a watch upon us, come, and with a cup of
ruby wine in hand, let us rejoice while yet there are
some days with the sweet presence of the friend [the
Divinity].
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Written by
Omar Khayyam |
Thy cup, O my cupbearer! contains liquid rubies; give
some to my soul, O cupbearer! Let it reflect that precious
stone; put in my hand, O cupbearer, this incomparable
cup, for through this I will give new life unto my soul.
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Written by
Omar Khayyam |
O Khayyam! although the Wheel of the Heavens has,
in setting up his tent, closed the door to discussions, [it
is evident, nevertheless,] that the cupbearer of eternity
[God] has produced, in the form of globules of wine in
the cup of creation, a thousand other Khayyams like
thee.
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Written by
Omar Khayyam |
As for me, without limpid wine I cannot live; my body
is a burden which I cannot carry without drinking of the
juice of the vine. Oh! might I be the slave of that
delicious moment when the cupbearer said to me: Another
cup! and that I had no longer strength to take it!
394
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