Page:Quatrains of Omar Khayyam (tr. Whinfield, 1883).djvu/164

108

Till the Friend pours his wine to glad my heart, No kisses to my face will heaven impart: They say, "Repent in time;" but how repent, Ere Allah's grace hath softened my hard heart?

When I am dead, take me and grind me small, So that I be a caution unto all, And knead me into clay with wine, and then Use me to stop the wine-jar’s mouth withal.

What though the sky with its blue canopy Doth close us in so that we cannot see, In the etern Cupbearer’s Wine, methinks, There ﬂoat a myriad bubbles like to me.