Page:Quatrains of Omar Khayyam (tr. Whinfield, 1883).djvu/370

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O Love! before you pass death's portal through, And potters make their jugs of me and you, Pour from this jug some wine, of headache void, And fill your cup, and fill my goblet too!

Love! while yet you can, with tender art, Lift sorrow's burden from your lover's heart; Your wealth of graces will not always last, But slip from your possession, and depart!

Bestir thee, ere death's cup for thee shall flow. And blows of ruthless fortune lay thee low; Acquire some substance here, there is none there, For those who thither empty-handed go!