Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám: The Astronomer-poet of Persia

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Thomas Y. Crowell Company, 1921 - 258 pages
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Review: Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

User Review  - Aamil Syed - Goodreads

Heretic poetry :) Then to the lip of this poor earthen Urn I lean'd, the Secret of my Life to learn: And Lip to Lip it murmur'd--"While you live Drink!--for, once dead, you never shall return." ~ And ... Read full review

Review: Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

User Review  - Bex Lyons - Goodreads

I'm not sure what I was expecting of the Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (trans. Edward FitzGerald), but I wasn't expecting this! Bought a 1933 edition of this for a friend at a second-hand and antiquarian ... Read full review

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Page 144 - Nay but, O man, who art thou that repliest against God? Shall the thing formed say to him that formed it, Why hast thou made me thus? Hath not the potter power over the clay, of the same lump to make one vessel unto honour, and another unto dishonour?
Page 117 - They say the Lion and the Lizard keep The courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep: And Bahrain, that great Hunter — the Wild Ass Stamps o'er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep.
Page 44 - Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend, Before we too into the Dust descend: Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie, Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and — sans End!
Page 118 - I sometimes think that never blows so red The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled; That every Hyacinth the Garden wears Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head.
Page 118 - And we, that now make merry in the Room They left, and Summer dresses in new bloom, Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth Descend — ourselves to make a Couch — for whom?
Page 45 - Myself when young did eagerly frequent Doctor and Saint, and heard great Argument About it and about : but evermore Came out by the same Door as in I went.
Page 46 - Up from Earth's Centre through the Seventh Gate I rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate, And many a Knot unravel'd by the Road; But not the Master-knot of Human Fate.
Page 118 - Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears TO-DAY of past Regrets and Future Fears: To-morrow.'— Why, To-morrow I may be Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n thousand Years.
Page 183 - There was the Door to which I found no Key ; There was the Veil through which I could not see : Some little talk awhile of ME and THEE There was — and then no more of THEE and ME.
Page 163 - A Book of Verses underneath the Bough, A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread — and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness — Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!

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