Nature

Quatrain 05

“Iram indeed is gone with all its Rose,

And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;

But still the Vine her ancient Ruby yields,

And still a Garden by the Water blows.”

tr. Edward FitzGerald, 1859

Quatrain 06

“And David's Lips are lock't; but in divine

High piping Pelevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!

Red Wine!"—the Nightingale cries to the Rose

That yellow Cheek of hers to'incarnadine.”

tr. Edward FitzGerald, 1859

Quatrain 08

“And look—a thousand Blossoms with the Day

Woke—and a thousand scatter'd into Clay:

And this first Summer Month that brings the Rose

Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.”

tr. Edward FitzGerald, 1859

Quatrain 10

“With me along some Strip of Herbage strown

That just divides the desert from the sown,

Where name of Slave and Sultan scarce is known,

And pity Sultan Mahmud on his Throne.”

tr. Edward FitzGerald, 1859

Quatrain 11

“Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,

A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse—and Thou

Beside me singing in the Wilderness—

And Wilderness is Paradise enow.”

tr. Edward FitzGerald, 1859

Quatrain 13

“Look to the Rose that blows about us—"Lo,

Laughing," she says, "into the World I blow:

At once the silken Tassel of my Purse

Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."”

tr. Edward FitzGerald, 1859

Quatrain 17

“They say the Lion and the Lizard keep

The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep:

And Bahram, that great Hunter—the Wild Ass

Stamps o'er his Head, and he lies fast asleep.”

tr. Edward FitzGerald, 1859

Quatrain 18

“I sometimes think that never blows so red

The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled;

That every Hyacinth the Garden wears

Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head.”

tr. Edward FitzGerald, 1859

Quatrain 19

“And this delightful Herb whose tender Green

Fledges the River's Lip on which we lean—

Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows

From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!”

tr. Edward FitzGerald, 1859

Quatrain 36

“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!"”

tr. Edward FitzGerald, 1859

Quatrain 48

“While the Rose blows along the River Brink,

With old Khayyam the Ruby Vintage drink:

And when the Angel with his darker Draught

Draws up to thee—take that, and do not shrink.”

tr. Edward FitzGerald, 1859