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Literature/Persian Heritage:
Rubaiyat of Khayyam
XLI.
Perplext no
more with Human or Divine,
To-morrow’s
tangle to the winds resign,
And lose
your fingers in the tresses of
The
Cypress-slender Minister of Wine.
XLII.
And if the
Wine you drink, the Lip you press,
End in what
All begins and ends in—Yes;
Think then
you are
to-day
what
yesterday
You were—to-morrow
you shall not be less.
XLIII.
So when
that Angel of the darker Drink
At last
shall find you by the river-brink,
And,
offering his Cup, invite your Soul
Forth to
your Lips to quaff—you shall not shrink.
XLIV.
Why, if the
Soul can fling the Dust aside,
And naked
on the Air of Heaven ride,
Were’t not
a Shame—were’t not a Shame for him
In this
clay carcass crippled to abide?
XLV.
’Tis but a
Tent where takes his one day’s rest
A Sultan to
the realm of Death addrest;
The Sultan
rises, and the dark Ferrash
Strikes,
and prepares it for another Guest.
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