Page:Quatrains of Omar Khayyam (tr. Whinfield, 1883).djvu/264

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When Khayyam quittance at Death's hand receives, And sheds his outworn life, as trees their leaves, Full gladly will he sift this world away, Ere dustmen sift his ashes in their sieves.

This wheel of heaven, which makes us all afraid, I liken to a lamp's revolving shade, The sun the candlestick, the earth the shade, And men the tremhling forms thereon portrayed.

Who was it that did mix my clay? Not I. Who spun my weh of silk and wool? Not I.   Who wrote upon my forehead all my good, And all my evil deeds? In truth not I.