ذهن خیام

 گردش ایّام

Omar Khayyam, Translated by E. Fitzgerald

‘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!

 

They say the Lion and the Lizard keep

The Courts where Jamshid gloried and drank deep:

     And Bahram, that great Hunter —the Wild Ass

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

 

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.

 

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!”

 

Some for the Glories of  This World; and some

Sigh for the Prophet’s Paradise to come;

    Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go,

Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!

 

And then the Tulip for her morning sup

Of Heav’nly Vintage from the soil looks up,

    Do you devoutly do the like, till Heav’n

To Earth invert you_like an empty Cup.