IX.

Morning a thousand Roses brings, you say;
Yes, but where leaves the Rose of yesterday?

And this first Summer month that brings the Rose Shall take Jamshýd and Kaikobád away.

Well, let it take them!

X.

What have we to do

With Kaikobád the Great, or Kaikhosrú?
Let Rustum cry "To Battle!" as he likes,"
Or Hátim Tai "To Supper!"-heed not you.

XI.

With me along the strip of Herbage strown
That just divides the desert from the sown,

Where name of Slave and Sultán is forgot-
And Peace to Máhmúd on his golden Throne!

XII.

Here with a little Bread beneath the Bough,
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse-and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness—

Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!

XIII.

Some for the Glories of This World; and some
Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come;

Ah, take the Cash, and let the Promise go,
Nor heed the music of a distant Drum! 8

XIV.

Were it not Folly, Spider-like to spin

The Thread of present Life away to win

What? for ourselves, who know not if we shall Breathe out the very Breath we now breathe in !

XV.

Look to the blowing Rose 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."

XVI.

For those who husbanded the Golden grain, And those who flung it to the winds like Rain, Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn'd As, buried once, Men want dug up again.

XVII.

The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon
Turns Ashes-or it prospers; and anon,

Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face,
Lighting a little hour or two-was gone.

XVIII.

Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai

Whose Portals are alternate Night and Day,
How Sultán after Sultán with his Pomp

Abode his destin'd Hour, and went his way.

XIX.

They say the Lion and the Lizard keep

The Courts where Jamshýd gloried and drank deep : 10 And Bahrám, that great Hunter-the Wild Ass Stamps o'er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep.

XX.

The Palace that to Heav'n his pillars threw,
And Kings the forehead on his threshold drew—

I saw the solitary Ringdove there,

And "Coo, coo, coo," she cried; and "Coo, coo, coo."11

XXI.

Ah, my Belovéd, fill the Cup that clears
TO-DAY of past Regret and future Fears:

To-morrow!-Why, To-morrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n thousand Years.12

XXII.

For some we loved, the loveliest and the best
That from his Vintage rolling Time has prest,

Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,
And one by one crept silently to rest.

XXIII.

And we, that now make merry in the Room
They left, and Summer dresses in new bloom,
Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth
Descend, ourselves to make a Couch-for whom?

XXIV.

I sometimes think that never blows so red
The Rose as where some buried Cæsar bled;
That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head.

XXV.

And this delightful Herb whose living Green
Fledges the River's Lip on which we lean—
Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows
From what once lovely Lip t springs unseen!

XXVI.

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!

XXVII.

Alike for those who for TO-DAY prepare,

And those that after some TO-MORROW stare,

A Muezzín from the Tower of Darkness cries, "Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There!"

XXVIII.

Another Voice, when I am sleeping, cries,

“The Flower should open with the Morning skies." And a retreating Whisper, as I wake—

"The Flower that once has blown for ever dies."

XXIX.

Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd
Of the Two Worlds so learnedly, are thrust

Like foolish Prophets forth; their Words to Scorn Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.

XXX.

Myself when young did eagerly frequent

Doctor and Saint, and heard great argument

About it and about: but evermore

Came out by the same door as in I went.

XXXI.

With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow,
And with my own hand wrought to make it grow:
And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd-
"I came like Water, and like Wind I go."

XXXII.

Into this Universe, and Why not knowing,
Nor Whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing :
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
I know not Whither, willy-nilly blowing.

XXXIII.

What, without asking, hither hurried Whence?
And, without asking, Whither hurried hence!

Ah, contrite Heav'n endowed us with the Vine
To drug the memory of that insolence!