Quatrain 12
Quatrain 12 of 75
“"How sweet is mortal Sovranty!"—think some:
Others—"How blest the Paradise to come!"
Ah, take the Cash in hand and waive the Rest;
Oh, the brave Music of a distant Drum!”
Reflection · Summer
The Cash in hand. Not the credit note of Paradise, not the abstract stock of sovereignty, but the actual coin of the present moment, heavy in the palm. The brave Music of a distant Drum is one of FitzGerald's great lines — brave because it sounds heroic, but its heroism is hollow, a bravery you feel from far away that dissolves as you approach.
In summer, with the year at its fullest, the invitation to take the cash is most urgent. The sovereign pleasure is here — sun, fruit, warmth, the long light of Mordad. The distant drum is beating for something else, somewhere else, some campaign you could join if you were willing to leave this. Don't. The cash is in your hand right now. Spend it. The drum can beat for someone who isn't standing in a summer garden with a full cup.