Selected Rubaiyat

15
Whate’er thou doest, never grieve thy brother,
Nor kindle fumes of wrath his peace to smother;
    Dost thou desire to taste eternal bliss,
Vex thine own heart, but never vex another!

38
With outward seeming we can cheat mankind,
But to God’s will we can but be resigned;
    The deepest wiles my cunning e’er devised,
To shirk divine decrees no way could find.

41
Sobriety doth dry up all delight,
And drunkenness doth drown my sense outright;
    There is a middle state, it is my life,
Not altogether drunk, nor sober quite.

49
In synagogue and cloister, mosque and school,
Hell’s terrors and heaven’s lures men’s bosoms rule,
    But they who master Allah’s mysteries,
Sow not this empty chaff their hearts to fool.

60
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.

63
Hearts with the light of love illumined well,
Whether in mosque or synagogue they dwell,
   Have their names written in the book of love,
Unvexed by hopes of heaven or fears of hell.

100
When Allah mixed my clay, He knew full well
My future acts, and could each one foretell;
   Without His fiat nothing can I do;
Is it then just to punish me in hell?

136
Life’s caravan is hastening on its way;
Brood not on troubles of the coming day,
    But fill the wine-cup, ere sweet night be gone,
And snatch a pleasant moment while you may.

156
These fools, by dint of ignorance most crass,
Think they in wisdom all mankind surpass;
    And glibly do they damn as infidel,
Whoever is not, like themselves, an ass.

376
Some look for truth in creeds, and forms, and rules;
Some grope for doubts or dogmas in the schools;
    But from behind the veil a voice proclaims,
“Your road lies neither here nor there, O fools.”

382
Suffer not gloomy thoughts your mirth to drown,—
Nor let grief’s millstone weigh your spirits down;
    Since none can tell what is to be, ‘tis best
With wine and love your heart’s desires to crown.

411
Shall I still sigh for what I have not got,
Or try with cheerfulness to bear my lot?
    Fill up my cup! I know not if the breath
I now am drawing is my last, or not!

Omar Khayyam,
translated by E.B. Whinefield, M.A.

Miguel García, Pléyades