Page:Quatrains of Omar Khayyam (tr. Whinfield, 1883).djvu/106

50

Here in this palace, where Bahram held sway, The wild roes drop their young, and tigers stray; And that great hunter king—ah! well a day! Now to the hunter death is fallen a prey.

Down fall the tears from skies enwrapt in gloom, Without this drink, the flowers could never bloom! As now these flowerets yield delight to me, So shall my dust yield flowers—God knows for whom.

To-day is Friday, as the Moslem says, Drink then from bowls served up in quick relays; Suppose on common days you drink one bowl, To-day drink two, for 'tis the prince of days.