Wine

Quatrain 02

“Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the Sky

I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry,

"Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup

Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry."”

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 20

“Ah! my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears

TO-DAY of past Regrets and future Fears—

To-morrow?—Why, To-morrow I may be

Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years.”

tr. Edward FitzGerald, 1859

Quatrain 23

“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!”

tr. Edward FitzGerald, 1859

Quatrain 30

“What, without asking, hither hurried Whence?

And, without asking, Whither hurried hence!

Another and another Cup to drown

The Memory of this Impertinence!”

tr. Edward FitzGerald, 1859

Quatrain 34

“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."”

tr. Edward FitzGerald, 1859

Quatrain 37

“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!”

tr. Edward FitzGerald, 1859

Quatrain 39

“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.”

tr. Edward FitzGerald, 1859

Quatrain 40

“You know, my Friends, with what a brave Carouse

I made a Second Marriage in my house:

Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed,

And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse.”

tr. Edward FitzGerald, 1859

Quatrain 41

“For "IS" and "IS-NOT" though with Rule and Line,

And, "UP-AND-DOWN" without, I could define,

I yet in all I only cared to know,

Was never deep in anything but—Wine.”

tr. Edward FitzGerald, 1859

Quatrain 42

“And lately, by the Tavern Door agape,

Came stealing through the Dusk an Angel Shape,

Bearing a vessel on his Shoulder; and

He bid me taste of it; and 'twas—the Grape!”

tr. Edward FitzGerald, 1859

Quatrain 43

“The Grape that can with Logic absolute

The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute:

The subtle Alchemist that in a Trice

Life's leaden Metal into Gold transmute.”

tr. Edward FitzGerald, 1859

Quatrain 44

“The mighty Mahmud, the victorious Lord,

That all the misbelieving and black Horde

Of Fears and Sorrows that infest the Soul

Scatters and slays with his enchanted Sword.”

tr. Edward FitzGerald, 1859

Quatrain 47

“And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press,

End in the Nothing all Things end in—Yes—

Then fancy while Thou art, Thou art but what

Thou shalt be—Nothing—Thou shalt not be less.”

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

Quatrain 55

“The Vine had struck a Fibre; which about

If clings my Being—let the Sufi flout;

Of my Base Metal may be filed a Key,

That shall unlock the Door he howls without.”

tr. Edward FitzGerald, 1859

Quatrain 56

“And this I know: whether the one True Light,

Kindle to Love, or Wrath consume me quite,

One Glimpse of It within the Tavern caught

Better than in the Temple lost outright.”

tr. Edward FitzGerald, 1859

Quatrain 64

“Said one—"Folks of a surly Tapster tell,

And daub his Visage with the Smoke of Hell;

They talk of some strict Testing of us—Pish!

He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well."”

tr. Edward FitzGerald, 1859

Quatrain 65

“Then said another with a long-drawn Sigh,

"My Clay with long oblivion is gone dry:

But, fill me with the old familiar Juice,

Methinks I might recover by-and-bye!"”

tr. Edward FitzGerald, 1859

Quatrain 67

“Then to the Lip of this poor earthen Urn

I lean'd, the Secret of my Life to learn:

And Lip to Lip it murmur'd—"While you live

Drink!—for, once dead, you never shall return."”

tr. Edward FitzGerald, 1859

Quatrain 68

“I have a Friend, a Woman-friend indeed,

More frail and fickle than I am told the Rose,—

Wine, Ruby Wine! my bosom-friend in need,

Brings smiling News of Spring before it blows.”

tr. Edward FitzGerald, 1859