Page:Quatrains of Omar Khayyam (tr. Whinfield, 1883).djvu/98

42

From mosque an outcast, and to church a foe, Allah! of what clay didst thou form me so? Like skeptic monk, or ugly courtesan, No hopes have I above, no joys below.

Men's lusts, like house-dogs, still the house distress With clamor, barking for mere wantonness; Foxes are they, and sleep the sleep of hares; Crafty as wolves, as tigers pitiless.

Yon turf, fringing the margent of the stream, As down upon a cherub's lip might seem, Or growth from dust of buried tulip cheeks; Tread not that turf with scorn, or light esteem!