Page:Quatrains of Omar Khayyam (tr. Whinfield, 1883).djvu/202

146

Slaves of vain wisdom and philosophy, Who toil at Being and Nonentity, Parching your brains till they are like dry grapes, Be wise in time, and drink grape-juice, like me!

Sense, seeking happiness, bids us pursue All present joys, and present griefs eschew; She says, we are not as the meadow grass, Which, when they mow it down, springs up anew.

Now Ramazán is past, Shawwál comes back. And feast and song and joy no more we lack; The wine-skin carriers throng the streets and cry, "Here comes the porter with his precious pack."