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Whalley, P. [1877]

Metrical translations from the quatrains of 'Umar Khayyám. By Peter Whalley
In: Jrnl. Asiatic Society of Bengal, Vol. XLVI, Part 1. 1877. Pp. 158-160
Potter 560

There's not a heart but bleeds for thy disdain;
There's not a sage but has gone mad for thee;
And thou for love thou giv'st no love again,
There's not a brain that from thy love is free.

Drink, drink! Like quicksilver I see with ruth
Life from thee slide:
And false is fortune, hope a dream, and youth
Ebbs, like a tide.

Come and ere sorrows swarm up to harry is,
Idol mine, blithely the wine-cup we'll drain.
We are not gold that the rough hands that bury us
Ever should care to exhume us again.

We are but puppets danced by juggling fate,
To trim the phrase no jot of truth I bate,
On Being's board we serve to dress a play,
And, played our little game, - we're packed away.

Though steeped in sin, let no vain qualms be thine,
Nor fear to meet thy Maker. Death atones.
Die drunk en reprobate. His sun will shine
As bland as ever on thy rotting bones.

Earth, water, - such is the sum of us:
Monk, priest, - Thou hast made us the same,
Fame, shame, - all that may come of us, -
Thine is the honour, - and thine is the blame.

I am drunk with old wine? So I am.
A rank libertine? So I am.
Let them think of me what they will,
I am mine: As I am, so I am.

Lighten my cares and my sorrow,
Hide from my fellows my guilt,
Keep me happy to-day, - and to-morrow
Deal with me as Thou wilt.

Some trust their church or creed to bear them out,
Some pray forfaith, and tremble at a doubt.
Methinks I hear a still small voice declare
'The way to God is neither here nor there.