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 Yea, it is truly Khayyám that you see,

These are his dancing-girls, and drunk is he,

Throned in the tavern, fear below his feet,

As wisely happy as a man may be.

To win this wisdom he hath given up

All worldly goods, his very drinking-cup

Hath to the tavern-master humbly sold,—

Do thou the same, and join the wise who sup.

Only a breath divides belief from doubt,

'Tis muttered breath that makes a man devout,

Yea, death from life only a breath divides—

O haste to drink before that breath is out.

You say, "There are so many crowns to win,

Yet you lie sunken in your sleepy sin";

Bring me a crown of gold and big enough,

And I will wear it—all these are of tin.