Page:Quatrains of Omar Khayyam (tr. Whinfield, 1883).djvu/278

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When Death shall tread me down upon the plain. And pluck my feathers, and my life-blood drain, Then mould me to a cup, and fill with wine; Haply its scent will make me breathe again.

So far as this world's dealings I have traced, I find its favours shamefully misplaced; Allah be praised! I see myself debarred Prom all its boons, and wrongfully disgraced.

'Tis dawn! my heart with wine I will recruit, And dash to bits the glass of good repute; My long-extending hopes I will renounce, And grasp long tresses, and the charming lute.