Page:Quatrains of Omar Khayyam (tr. Whinfield, 1883).djvu/334

278

Bulbuls, doting on roses, oft complain How froward breezes rend their veils in twain; Sit we beneath this rose, which many a time Has sunk to earth, and sprung from earth again.

Suppose the world goes well with you, what then? When life's last page is read and turned, what then? Suppose you live a hundred years of bliss, Yea, and a hundred years besides, what then?

How is it that of all the leafy tribe. Cypress and lily men as " free " describe? This has a dozen tongues, yet holds her peace, That has a hundred hands which take no bribe.