Page:Quatrains of Omar Khayyam (tr. Whinfield, 1883).djvu/172

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Whoso aspires to gain a rose-cheeked fair, Sharp pricks from fortune's thorns must learn to bear. See! till this comb was cleft by cruel cuts, It never dared to touch my lady's hair.

For ever may my hands on wine be stayed, And my heart pant for some fair Houri maid! They say, "May Allah aid thee to repent!" Repent I could not, e'en with Allah's aid!

Soon shall I go, by time and fate deplored, Of all my precious pearls not one is bored; Alas! there die with me a thousand truths To which these fools fit audience ne'er accord.