JBAIYAT OF OMAR KHAYYAM 
 
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University of California • Berkeley 
 
 From the Bequest 
 
 of 
 
 Dorothy K. Thomas 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2008 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/fiftyrubaiyatofoOOomarrich 
 
FIFTY 
 
 R U B A I Y A T 
 
 O F 
 
 OMAR KHAYYAM 
 
 PARAPHRASED FROM UTERAL TRANSLATIONS BY 
 
 RICHARD LcGALLIENNE 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHER PRESS 
 At The Sign of The Creen Pine Tree 
 WAUSAU WISCONSIN 
 
Two hundred copies printed for private circulation 
 only for James Carleton Young and liis friends of 
 irlucli tliis is number 
 
 
• * ) ^ " 
 
 Copyrighted 1901 by Richard Le Gallienive. 
 
TATTERED robe, and face with 
 
 loving pale. 
 Pass me not by : I am the Nightingale 
 That dares to sing of Riot and the Rose; 
 And, Brother, I would give thee hand and hail. 
 
 ^UT, sinner, there's one thing I want to 
 hear: 
 
 O tell me — is your sinning quite sincere ? 
 You would not leave it even though you 
 could 1 
 Say that you would not, O my brother dear. 
 
 jEMEMBER — all the pious who cry 
 shame. 
 With holy horror, on your tattered fame. 
 
 Watch only for the opportunity 
 Of turned backs and the dark to do the same. 
 
Jet us at least who think the Rose is 
 best 
 Not, paltry, lie about it, like the rest; 
 
 But lift our glasses frankly in the sun. 
 And take our love as frankly to our breast. 
 
 s 
 
 HIS is the creed of Omar : I believe 
 In Wine and Roses, also I believe 
 In Woman — (what a foolish thing to do !) 
 And in the God that made them I believe. 
 
 n 
 
 ^^M DEARER than the soul that gives me 
 
 
 ^^3^ breath. 
 
 Dearer than life, as the old proverb saith, — 
 
 Nay, that is but a sorry compliment : 
 For thou, my love, art dearer even than death. 
 
days are filled with wonder and witK 
 wine, — 
 
 Wine helps the wonder, wonder helps the 
 wine — 
 But in the night my bosom fills with tears. 
 Tears, tears, for one who never can be mine. 
 
 TN sad eyes must sparkle in the sun. 
 But, when the miracle of day is done, 
 Down in a bankrupt darkness deep I lie 
 Haunted by all I lost — and might have won ! 
 
 3ET was there aught to win that is not 
 mine ? 
 I ask not money — only to buy wine : 
 
 Women forsake me not, for all my sins — 
 What better winnings, pious friend, are thine ? 
 
MAM not fit for hell, — I am too small; 
 For heaven I am too heretical; 
 I love both places, yet not one enough : 
 'Twixt the two stools I fall — and fall — and fall. 
 
 ^OD gave me eyesight — shall I rob my 
 eyes? 
 He gave me smell — instead of merchandise — 
 
 Members and senses delicate to feed ; 
 Who bids me starve them God himself denies. 
 
 |EA ! none shall tell that I have turned 
 away. 
 Ungrateful, when some woman bid me stay : 
 
 The golden invitation of a friend 
 I answered ever with a thankful '*yea. 
 
 >> 
 
IHINK not that I have never tried your 
 way 
 To heaven, you who pray and fast and pray. 
 
 Once I denied myself both love and wine. 
 Yea wine and love — for a whole summer day. 
 
 CANNOT help it. Were it in my 
 power, 
 I would forsake my sins this very hour. 
 
 Forswear the Rose, and bid the Vine 
 goodbye. 
 Kiss my last kiss — if it were in my powerl 
 
 ^m GOOD old friends— what is it I have 
 
 M saidl 
 
 It was the wine which got into my head — 
 
 Forgive me, O forgive, I meant it not, 
 I shall forsake you only when Tm dead. 
 
ND even then — who knows — we'll 
 meet again. 
 Nor the celestial wine-cup cease to drain. 
 
 And in some laughter-loving heaven on 
 high 
 Our little women to our bosoms strain. 
 
 {HEN to this loot of life I come anear. 
 Hoping to snatch some little worldly 
 gear, 
 I find the fools have carted off the best. 
 And nought is left for me, but — hope and fear. 
 
 ^j^F thou wilt keep my head well filled 
 ^^) with wine, 
 
 I care not if the whole round world be thine; 
 O fading kingdoms and forgotten kings, 
 I know a better kingdom — drink red wine. 
 
fITHIN the tavern each man is a 
 king. 
 
 Wine is the slave that brings him — anything; 
 O friend, be wise in time and Join our band. 
 Drink and forget and laugh and dance and sing. 
 
 WONDER why I go on living still 
 This life of pain and poison, why I still 
 Trust friends, hope good, still fight and 
 still have faith 
 In this world's business — ^still, think of it, — 
 stilll 
 
 GAVE my heart, and life returns me — 
 nought; 
 
 My mind, my soul, I gave — for what? For 
 nought ; 
 All dreams and loves and hopes I freely gave; 
 Nothing is left to give. I give it : Nought. 
 
OU say: ''There are so many crowns 
 to win. 
 Yet you lie sunken in your sleepy sin 1 '^ 
 
 Bring me a crown of gold and big enough. 
 And I will wear it — all these are of tin. 
 
 I 
 
 ^HETHER you would abide or go 
 away. 
 
 Wine will befriend you, friend : for, if you stay. 
 You'll forget going; and, if you must go. 
 He '11 drown you in the very sweetest way. 
 
 JOME that would leave this world 
 
 take dreadful means. 
 
 One wrenching poisons, one steel, another leans 
 
 His brow on sudden fire, but wine is 
 
 best — 
 
 Poets have died so, and many kings, and queens. 
 
[INE is the tender friend of suicides. 
 You drown so softly in its gentle tides: 
 You know not you are dying, yet you die. 
 And love with rose-leaves all the ruin hides. 
 
 ^OULD you forget a woman — drink 
 red wine: 
 
 Would you remember her. then drink red wine: 
 Is your heart breaking just to see her face? 
 Gaze deep within this mirror — of red wine. 
 
 JACE like a glass wherein all heaven 
 lies, 
 A jErmament reflecJted in two eyes: 
 
 Thanks to your heaven, I am deep in hell. 
 The shadow of your laughter is my sighs. 
 
^^Y cheeks, like hollow cups, are filled 
 
 ^1^ with tears. 
 
 My body is a haunted house of fears. 
 
 My heart is like a wine-jar filled with blood: 
 O God ! those sightless eyes, those small deaf 
 cars. 
 
 SHEIK once took a harlot in her 
 shame. 
 Calling the poor soul many an ugly name; 
 
 '* Tis true, '' she wept, *' all I appear I am; 
 But, sheik, of thee would I could say the samel '' 
 
 ^^^ SPEAK not evil of these dancing 
 i^^ flowers. 
 
 These girls that arrogantly we call ours, — 
 Yours, mine, and anyone's who bids and 
 buys — 
 O God ! the pity of the fate of flowers 1 
 
rtRL, have you any thought what your 
 eyes mean? 
 You must have stolen them from some dead queen; 
 
 O little empty laughing soul that sings 
 And dances — tell me what do your eyes mean 1 
 
 ND all this body of ivory and 
 myrrh, 
 
 O guard it with some little love and care — 
 Know your own wonder, worship it with 
 me. 
 See how I fall before it deep in prayer. 
 
 OW sad to be a woman, — not to 
 know 
 Aught of the glory of this breast of snow. 
 
 All unconcerned to comb this mighty hair ; 
 To be a woman — and yet never know I 
 
[ERE I a woman, I wouli all day 
 long 
 Sing my own beauty in some holy song. 
 
 Bend low before it, hushed and half afraid. 
 And say ''I am a woman'' all day long. 
 
 ^^^ LOVE, I come to worship in your 
 
 shrine. 
 There is no part of you is not divine. 
 
 There is no part of you not human too. 
 
 There is no part of you that is not mine; 
 
 |XCEPT — except — that heart of precious 
 stone. 
 Cold heart no man shall ever call his own. 
 
 Nor fire warm, nor might of loving win. 
 Heart great — and cold— enough to dwell alone. 
 
L 
 
 i 
 
 HOUGH my estate be poor, my 
 raiment torn, 
 I am not really sorry I was born. 
 
 For God has given me my heart's desire — 
 Wine and the Well-Beloved and the morn. 
 
 ^AD pilgrim of the heart, the way is 
 long. 
 Suppose we lighten it for you with a song; 
 
 Here in the tavern rest your wandering feet. 
 Strong is your love, but wine is just as strong. 
 
 kE know the love that drives you to 
 and fro. 
 Like hungry dogs that through the city go. 
 
 The hollow hunger of the breaking heart. 
 And the one cure for it, alike we know. 
 
AKI, bring roses for this sad one's 
 ^&1 hair. 
 
 And set a bowl of rubies for him there ; 
 
 And you, O moon, dance, dance and 
 dance and dance — 
 That the poor fellow may not think of her. 
 
 IFE is too short, dear brother, to be 
 sad; 
 If you must needs be anything — be glad ; 
 
 Leave bitter books and read the Book of 
 Joy— 
 I know that some declare the book is bad. 
 
 yg^ O all of us the thought of heaven is 
 
 Why not be sure of it, and make it here ! 
 
 No doubt there is a heaven yonder too. 
 But 'tis so far away, and — you are near. 
 
BOOK, a Woman, and a Flask of 
 Wine, 
 
 The three make heaven — for me; it may be thine 
 Is some sour place of singing cold and bare — 
 But then I never said thy heaven was mine. 
 
 jOVE, the fair day is drawing to its 
 close. 
 
 The stars are rising and a soft wind blows. 
 The gates of heaven are opening in a 
 dream. 
 The nightingale sings to the sleeping rose. 
 
 IHADOWS and dew and silence and 
 the stars; 
 I wonder, love, what is behind those bars 
 
 Of twinkling silver, — is there aught 
 behind ? — 
 Venus and Jupiter, Sirius and Mars; 
 
LDEBARAN, and the soft Pleiades, 
 Orion ploughing the ethereal seas — 
 Which are the stars, my love, and which 
 your eyes? 
 And O the nightingale in yonder trees ! 
 
 jEART of my heart, in such an hour as 
 this 
 The cup of life brims all too full of bliss. 
 
 See, it runs over in these happy tears — 
 How strange you seem ! how solemn is your kissl 
 
 LOVE, if I should die before you 
 died. 
 Would you be really sorry that I died? 
 
 And would you weep a whole week on 
 my tomb. 
 Then be a little happy — that I died? 
 
ND would you see some face that 
 looked like mine. 
 And love it, love — "because it looked like 
 mine I 
 And say: *'How strangely like Khayyam 
 you areT' 
 And kiss the face — so wondrously like mine ! 
 
 m 
 
 HEN would you bring him softly 
 where the rose ^ 
 Showers its petals upon my repose. 
 
 And shed two tears together on my tomb, — 
 Strange are the ways of grief — who knows, 
 who knows I 
 
Here end the rubaiyatof Omar Khayyam of 
 Naishapur newly done into English verse by 
 Richard LeGallienne, made into this book by 
 Helen Bruneau VanVechten at The Philosopher 
 Press which is in Wausau Wisconsin at The 
 Sign of The Green Pine Tree, finished this 
 second day of March MCMI. 
 
 Made for Mr. James Carleton Young, 
 Minneapolis Minnesota. 
 
L37 
 
ilUBAIYAT OF OMAR KHAYYAM