Page:Quatrains of Omar Khayyam (tr. Whinfield, 1883).djvu/208

152

When the fair soul this mansion doth vacate, Each element assumes its primal state, And all the silken furniture of life Is then dismantled by the blows of fate.

These people string their beads of learned lumber, And tell of Allah stories without number; But never solve the riddle of the skies, So wag the chin, and get them back to slumber.

These folk are asses, laden with conceit, And glittering drums, that empty sounds repeat And humble slaves are they of name and fame. Acquire a name, and, lo! they kiss thy feet.