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This jug, o'er which I pledge my love to-day,
Was once a lover too, now sad, now gay;
The handle that thou seest upon its neck
Once round another's neck in friendship lay.
Ah! woeful is the heart from passion free,
And sweet the pain of lovers' misery!
If thou hast spent a day bereft of Love,
For evermore that day is lost to thee.
To-day with Youth's effulgency I shine,
And taste the Joy of Life in Youth's own Wine
Sneer not because I find it bitter-sweet;
There lies its likeness to this life of mine.
Tomorrow is beyond To-day's command,
And Sorrow lords it o'er the future land;
Thine hour is Now! Fix not thine eyes afar,
Missing the Glory ready to thy hand!
The world sighs out for Happiness, and saith
"The very desert liveth: where is Death?"
The hand of Moses blooms on many a bough,
And every breeze is sweet with Jesus' breath.
Truth's branches bear good fruit for all who seek;
They shake in vain who shake with hands too weak.
To-day resembles Yesterday, but lo!
Creation's voice shall in To-morrow speak.
This, in the Dawn of Being, my behest,
My wand'ring soul for Heav'n and Hell made quest,
For Pen and Tablet; 'til the Teacher said
"Thou has them all, O Man, within thy breast!"
But bring me Wine; for words I do not care;
I have thy lips, and all my Heav'n is there;
Bring wine to match thy cheeks; my penitence
Is full of tangles as thy clust'ring hair.
The breath of Spring is sweet unto the Rose,
The lov'd one's face in the dark garden grows;
Speak not of Yesterday, - I know it not, -
To-day is all thy wooing lover knows.
How long shall I throw pebbles on the sea?
What are the Idol-worshippers to me?
Who says "Khayyám is surely doomed to Hell?"
Hast thou been there? Hath heaven rejected thee?
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