Page:Quatrains of Omar Khayyam (tr. Whinfield, 1883).djvu/76

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That pearl is from a mine unknown to thee, That ruby bears a stamp thou can'st not see, The tale of love some other tongue must tell, All our conjectures are mere phantasy.

Now with its joyful prime my age is rife, I quaff enchanting wine, and list to fife; Chide not at wine for all its bitter taste Its bitterness sorts well with human life!

O soul! whose lot it is to bleed with pain, And daily change of fortune to sustain, Into this body wherefore didst thou come, Seeing thou must at last go forth again?