Page:Quatrains of Omar Khayyam (tr. Whinfield, 1883).djvu/206

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The joyous souls who quaff potations deep, And saints who in the mosques sad vigils keep. Are lost at sea alike, and find no shore, ONE only wakes, all others are asleep.

Notbeing's water served to mix my clay, And on my heart grief's fire doth ever prey. And blown am I like wind about the world, And last my crumbling earth is swept away.

Small gains to learning on this earth accrue, They pluck life's fruitage, learning who eschew; Take pattern by the fools who learning shun, And then perchance shall fortune smile on you.