Page:Quatrains of Omar Khayyam (tr. Whinfield, 1883).djvu/132

76

How long must I make bricks upon the sea? Beshrew this yain task of idolatry; Call not Khayyám a denizen of hell; One while in heaven, and one in hell is he.

Sweet is the breath of Spring to rose's face, And thy sweet face adds charm to this fair place; To-day is sweet, but yesterday is sad, And sad all mention of its parted grace.

To-night pour wine, and sing a dulcet air, And I upon thy lips will hang, O fair; Yea, pour some wine as rosy as thy cheeks. My mind is troubled like thy ruffled hair.