Omar Khayyám

Omar Khayyam (1048–1131) was a Persian poet and polymath, known for his contributions to mathematics, astronomy, philosophy, and Persian literature. He was born in Nishapur, Iran and lived during the Seljuk era, around the time of the First Crusade. There is a tradition of attributing poetry to Omar Khayyam, written in the form of quatrains (rubāʿiyāt رباعیات). This poetry became widely known to the English-reading world in a translation by Edward FitzGerald, which enjoyed great success in the Orientalism of the fin de siècle.

Quotes

Now the New Year reviving old Desires,
The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires.

• By the help of God and with His precious assistance, I say that Algebra is a scientific art. The objects with which it deals are absolute numbers and measurable quantities which, though themselves unknown, are related to "things" which are known, whereby the determination of the unknown quantities is possible. Such a thing is either a quantity or a unique relation, which is only determined by careful examination. What one searches for in the algebraic art are the relations which lead from the known to the unknown, to discover which is the object of Algebra as stated above. The perfection of this art consists in knowledge of the scientific method by which one determines numerical and geometric unknowns.
  • A Treatise on Algebra, translated by Daoud S. Kasir, in Henrietta O. Midonick (ed.) The Treasury of Mathematics (New York, NY: Philosophical Library, 1965) pp. 584–585

• I was unable to devote myself to the learning of this al-jabr [algebra] and the continued concentration upon it, because of obstacles in the vagaries of time which hindered me; for we have been deprived of all the people of knowledge save for a group, small in number, with many troubles, whose concern in life is to snatch the opportunity, when time is asleep, to devote themselves meanwhile to the investigation and perfection of a science; for the majority of people who imitate philosophers confuse the true with the false, and they do nothing but deceive and pretend knowledge, and they do not use what they know of the sciences except for base and material purposes; and if they see a certain person seeking for the right and preferring the truth, doing his best to refute the false and untrue and leaving aside hypocrisy and deceit, they make a fool of him and mock him.
  • A Treatise on Algebra, in Seyyed Hossein Nasr, Science and Civilization in Islam (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1968) p. 161

• Whoever thinks algebra is a trick in obtaining unknowns has thought it in vain. No attention should be paid to the fact that algebra and geometry are different in appearance. Algebras (jabbre and maqabeleh) are geometric facts which are proved by propositions five and six of Book two of Elements.
  • Reported in A. R. Amir-Moez, "A Paper of Omar Khayyam", Scripta Mathematica, 26 (1963) pp. 323–337

Rubáiyát

• Give me a flagon of red wine, a book of verses, a loaf of bread, and a little idleness. If with such store I might sit by thy dear side in some lonely place, I should deem myself happier than a king in his kingdom.
  • Translated by Justin McCarthy, in Longman's Magazine (July 1889) p. 335

FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1859, '68, '72, '79, '89)

FitzGerald considered his version of Omar a "transmogrification" rather than a translation—Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (Garden City Publishing Co, 1937) "Biographical Preface"

Wake! For the Sun, who scatter'd into flight
The Stars before him from the Field of Night,
Drives Night along with them from Heav'n, and strikes
The Sultan's Turret with a Shaft of Light.

• Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of Night
  Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight:
  And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught
  The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light.
  • I (1859)

• Wake! For the Sun, who scatter'd into flight
  The Stars before him from the Field of Night,
  Drives Night along with them from Heav'n, and strikes
  The Sultan's Turret with a Shaft of Light.
  • I (1889)

• Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the Sky
  I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry,
  "Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup
  Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry."
  • II (1859)

• Before the phantom of False morning died,
  Methought a Voice within the Tavern cried,
  "When all the Temple is prepared within,
  Why nods the drowsy Worshipper outside?"
  • II (1889)

• And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before
  The Tavern shouted — "Open then the Door!
  You know how little while we have to stay,
  And, once departed, may return no more."
  • III (1889)

• Now the New Year reviving old Desires,
  The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,
  Where the White Hand of Moses on the Bough
  Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.
  • IV (1859, 1889)

• Irám indeed is gone with all its Rose,
  And Jamshýd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;
  But still the Vine her ancient Ruby yields,
  And still a Garden by the Water blows.
  • V (1859)

• But still a Ruby kindles in the Vine,
  And many a Garden by the Water blows.
  • V (1889)

•    In divine
  High piping Péhlevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!
  "Red Wine!"—the Nightingale cries to the Rose
  That yellow Cheek of her's to'incarnadine.
  • VI (1859)

• That sallow cheek of hers to' incarnadine.
  • VI (1889)

• Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
  The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:
  The Bird of Time has but a little way
  To fly — and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.
  • VII (1859)

• Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring
  Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling:
  The Bird of Time has but a little way
  To flutter — and the Bird is on the Wing.
  • VII (1889)

• And look — a thousand Blossoms with the Day
  Woke — and a thousand scatter'd into Clay.
  • VIII (1859)

• Whether at Naishapur or Babylon,
  Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run,
  The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop,
  The Leaves of Life keep falling one by one.
  • VIII (1889)

• But come with old Khayyám, and leave the Lot
  Of Kaikobád and Kaikhosrú forgot:
  Let Rustum lay about him as he will,
  Or Hátim Tai cry Supper — heed them not.
  • IX (1859)

• Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say;
  Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?
  • IX (1889)

• With me along some Strip of Herbage strown
  That just divides the desert from the sown,
  Where name of Slave and Sultán scarce is known,
  And pity Sultán Mahmúd on his Throne.
  • X (1859)

• With me along the strip of Herbage strown
  That just divides the desert from the sown,
  Where name of Slave and Sultan is forgot —
  And Peace to Mahmud on his golden Throne!
  • XI (1889)

• Well, let it take them! What have we to do
  With Kaikobad the Great, or Kaikhosru?
  Let Zal and Rustum bluster as they will,
  Or Hatim call to Supper — heed not you.
  • X (1889)

Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse — and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness,
And Wilderness is Paradise enow.

• Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,
  A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse — and Thou
  Beside me singing in the Wilderness —
  And Wilderness is Paradise enow.
  • XI (1859)

• 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!
  • XII (1889)

• "How sweet is mortal Sovranty!"—think some:
  Others — "How blest the Paradise to come!"
  Ah, take the Cash in hand and wave the Rest;
  Oh, the brave Music of a distant Drum!
  • XII (1859)

• Some for the Glories of This World; and some
  Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come;
  Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go,
  Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!
  • XIII (1889)

• The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon
  Turns Ashes — or it prospers; and anon,
  Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face
  Lighting a little Hour or two — is gone.
  • XIV (1859)

• And those who husbanded the Golden Grain,
  And those who flung it to the Winds like Rain,
  Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn'd
  As, buried once, Men want dug up again.
  • XV (1859)

• Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai
  Whose Doorways are alternate Night and Day,
  How Sultán after Sultán with his Pomp
  Abode his Hour or two, and went his way.
  • XVI (1859)

• The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon
  Turns Ashes — or it prospers; and anon,
  Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face,
  Lighting a little hour or two — is gone.
  • XVI (1889)

• They say the Lion and the Lizard keep
  The Courts where Jamshýd gloried and drank deep:
  And Bahrám, that great Hunter—the Wild Ass
  Stamps o'er his Head, and he lies fast asleep.
  • XVII (1859)

• Stamps o'er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep.
  • XVIII (1889)

• Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai
  Whose Portals are alternate Night and Day,
  How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp
  Abode his destined Hour, and went his way.
  • XVII (1889)

• I sometimes think that never blows so red
  The Rose as where some buried Cæsar bled;
  That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
  Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head.
  • XVIII (1859)

• 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.
  • XIX (1889)

• Ah! my Belovéd, 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.
  • XX (1859) · XXI (1889)

• And this reviving Herb whose tender Green
  Fledges the River-Lip on which we lean —
  Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows
  From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!
  • XX (1889)

• Lo! some we loved, the loveliest and the best
  That Time and Fate of all their Vintage prest,
  Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,
  And one by one crept silently to Rest.
  • XXI (1859)

• For some we loved, the loveliest and the best
  That from his Vintage rolling Time hath prest.
  • XXII (1889)

• 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!
  • XXIII (1859) · XXIV (1889)

• Alike for those who for To-day prepare,
  And those that after some To-morrow stare,
  A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries
  "Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There."
  • XXIV (1859) · XXV (1889)

• Oh, come with old Khayyam, and leave the Wise
  To talk; one thing is certain, that Life flies;
  One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies;
  The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.
  • XXVI (1859)

• Of threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise!
  One thing at least is certain — This Life flies.
  • LXIII (1889)

• Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd
  Of the Two Worlds so learnedly — are thrust
  Like foolish Prophets forth; their Words to Scorn
  Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.
  • XXV (1859)

• Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd
  Of the Two Worlds so wisely — they are thrust.
  • XXVI (1889)

• 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.
  • XXVII (1859)

• Came out by the same Door where in I went.
  • XXVII (1889)

With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow,
And with mine own hand wrought to make it grow;
And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd —
"I came like Water, and like Wind I go."

• With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow,
  And with my own hand labour'd it to grow:
  And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd—
  "I came like Water, and like Wind I go."
  • XXVIII (1859)

• With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow,
  And with mine own hand wrought to make it grow;
  And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd —
  "I came like Water, and like Wind I go."
  • XXVIII (1889)

• Into this Universe, and why not knowing,
  Nor whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing:
  And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
  I know not whither, willy-nilly blowing.
  • XXIX (1859)

• What, without asking, hither hurried whence?
  And, without asking, whither hurried hence!
  Another and another Cup to drown
  The Memory of this Impertinence!
  • XXX (1859)

• Oh, many a Cup of this forbidden Wine
  Must drown the memory of that insolence!
  • XXX (1889)

• Up from Earth's Centre through the Seventh Gate
  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.
  • XXXI (1889)

• There was a Door to which I found no Key:
  There was a Veil past which I could not see:
  Some little Talk awhile of Me and Thee
  There seemed — and then no more of Thee and Me.
  • XXXII (1859)

• There was the Door to which I found no Key;
  There was the Veil through which I might not see:
  Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee
  There was — and then no more of Thee and Me.
  • XXXII (1889)

• Then of the Thee in Me works behind
  The Veil, I lifted up my hands to find
  A Lamp amid the Darkness; and I heard,
  As from Without — "The Me Within Thee Blind!"
  • XXXIV (1889)

• 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."
  • XXXV (1889)

• For in the Market-place, one Dusk of Day,
  I watch'd the Potter thumping his wet Clay:
  And with its all obliterated Tongue
  It murmur'd—"Gently, Brother, gently, pray!"
  • XXXVI (1859)

• Ah, fill the Cup: — what boots it to repeat
  How Time is slipping underneath our Feet:
  Unborn To-morrow and dead Yesterday,
  Why fret about them if To-day be sweet!
  • XXXVII (1859)

• One Moment in Annihilation's Waste,
  One moment, of the Well of Life to taste —
  The Stars are setting, and the Caravan
  Starts for the dawn of Nothing — Oh, make haste!
  • XXXVIII (1859)

• For "Is" and "Is-not" though with Rule and Line,
  And, "Up-and-down" without, I could define,
  I yet in all I only cared to know,
  Was never deep in anything but — Wine.
  • XLI (1859) · LVI (1889)

• Perplext no more with Human or Divine,
  To-morrow's tangle to the winds resign,
  And lose your fingers in the tresses of
  The Cypress — slender Minister of Wine.
  • XLI (1889)

• And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press
  End in what All begins and ends in — Yes;
  Think then you are To-day what Yesterday
  You were — To-morrow You shall not be less.
  • XLII (1889)

• The Grape that can with Logic absolute
  The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute.
  • XLIII (1859) · LIX (1889)

• Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside,
  And naked on the Air of Heaven ride,
  Were't not a Shame — were't not a Shame for him
  In this clay carcase crippled to abide?
  • XLIV (1889)

• 'Tis but a Tent where takes his one day's rest
  A Sultan to the realm of Death addrest;
  The Sultan rises, and the dark Ferrash
  Strikes, and prepares it for another Guest.
  • XLV (1889)

• And fear not lest Existence closing your
  Account, and mine, should know the like no more;
  The Eternal Saki from that Bowl has pour'd
  Millions of Bubbles like us, and will pour.
  • XLVI (1889)

• When You and I behind the Veil are past,
  Oh, but the long, long while the World shall last,
  Which of our Coming and Departure heeds
  As the Sea's self should heed a pebble-cast.
  • XLVII (1889)

• A Moment's Halt — a momentary taste
  Of Being from the Well amid the Waste —
  And Lo! — the phantom Caravan has reach'd
  The Nothing it set out from — Oh, make haste!
  • XLVIII (1889)

• 'Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days
  Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays:
  Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays,
  And one by one back in the Closet lays.
  • XLIX (1859)

• But helpless Pieces of the Game He plays
  Upon this Chequer-board of Nights and Days;
  Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays,
  And one by one back in the Closet lays.
  • LXIX (1889)

• Would you that spangle of Existence spend
  About the Secret — Quick about it, Friend!
  A Hair perhaps divides the False and True —
  And upon what, prithee, may life depend?
  • XLIX (1889)

• A Hair perhaps divides the False and True;
  Yes; and a single Alif were the clue —
  Could you but find it — to the Treasure-house,
  And peradventure to The Master too.
  • L (1889)

• Whose secret Presence, through Creation's veins
  Running Quicksilver-like eludes your pains;
  Taking all shapes from Mah to Mahi; and
  They change and perish all — but He remains.
  • LI (1889)

• A moment guess'd — then back behind the Fold
  Immerst of Darkness round the Drama roll'd
  Which, for the Pastime of Eternity,
  He doth Himself contrive, enact, behold.
  • LII (1889)

• But if in vain, down on the stubborn floor
  Of Earth, and up to Heav'n's unopening Door
  You gaze To-day, while You are You — how then
  To-morrow, You when shall be You no more?
  • LIII (1889)

• Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuit
  Of This and That endeavour and dispute;
  Better be jocund with the fruitful Grape
  Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.
  • LIV (1889)

• You know, my Friends, with what a brave Carouse
  I made a Second Marriage in my house;
  Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed
  And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse.
  • LV (1889)

• Ah, but my Computations, People say,
  Reduced the Year to better reckoning? — Nay
  'Twas only striking from the Calendar
  Unborn To-morrow, and dead Yesterday.
  • LVII (1889)
  • Khayyám measured the length of the year as 365.24219858156 days; see Quotes about Khayyám below

• And lately, by the Tavern Door agape,
  Came shining through the Dusk an Angel Shape
  Bearing a Vessel on his Shoulder; and
  He bid me taste of it; and 'twas — the Grape!
  • LVIII (1889)

mighty Mahmud, Allah-breathing Lord
That all the misbelieving and black Horde
Of Fears and Sorrows that infest the Soul
Scatters before him with his whirlwind Sword.

• The mighty Mahmud, Allah-breathing Lord
  That all the misbelieving and black Horde
  Of Fears and Sorrows that infest the Soul
  Scatters before him with his whirlwind Sword.
  • LX (1889)

• Why, be this Juice the growth of God, who dare
  Blaspheme the twisted tendril as a Snare?
  A Blessing, we should use it, should we not?
  And if a Curse — why, then, Who set it there?
  • LXI (1889)

• I must abjure the Balm of Life, I must,
  Scared by some After-reckoning ta'en on trust,
  Or lured with Hope of some Diviner Drink,
  To fill the Cup — when crumbled into Dust!
  • LXII (1889)

• Oh, threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise!
  One thing at least is certain — This Life flies;
  One thing is certain and the rest is Lies;
  The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.
  • LXIII (5th ed. 1889)

• Strange, is it not? that of the myriads who
  Before us pass'd the door of Darkness through,
  Not one returns to tell us of the Road,
  Which to discover we must travel too.
  • LXIV (1889)

• The Revelations of Devout and Learn'd
  Who rose before us, and as Prophets burn'd,
  Are all but Stories, which, awoke from Sleep,
  They told their comrades, and to Sleep return'd.
  • LXV (1889)

• I sent my Soul through the Invisible,
  Some letter of that After-life to spell:
  And by and by my Soul return'd to me,
  And answer'd "I Myself am Heav'n and Hell."
  • LXVI (1889)

• Heav'n but the Vision of fulfill'd Desire,
  And Hell the Shadow from a Soul on fire,
  Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves,
  So late emerged from, shall so soon expire.
  • LXVII (1889)

• We are no other than a moving row
  Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go
  Round with the Sun-illumined Lantern held
  In Midnight by the Master of the Show;
  • LXVIII (1889)

• The Ball no Question makes of Ayes and Noes,
  But Right or Left as strikes the Player goes;
  And He that toss'd Thee down into the Field,
  He knows about it all — He knows — HE knows!
  • L (1859)

• But Here or There as strikes the Player goes.
  • LXX (1889)

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

• The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
  Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
  Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
  Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.
  • LI (1859) · LXXI (1889) with 'your' instead of 'thy'

• And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky,
  Whereunder crawling coop't we live and die,
  Lift not thy hands to It for help — for It
  Rolls impotently on as Thou or I.
  • LII (1859)

• And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky.
  • LXXII (1889)

• As impotently moves as you or I.
  • LXXII (1889)

• And this I know: whether the one True Light,
  Kindle to Love, or Wrath consume me quite,
  One Glimpse of It within the Tavern caught
  Better than in the Temple lost outright.
  • LVI (1859)

• One Flash of It within the Tavern caught.
  • LXXVII (1889)

• Oh Thou who didst with Pitfall and with Gin
  Beset the Road I was to wander in,
  Thou wilt not with Predestination round
  Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin?
  • LVII (1859)

• Thou wilt not with Predestined Evil round
  Enmesh, and then impute my Fall to Sin!
  • LXXX (1889)

• With Earth's first Clay They did the Last Man knead,
  And there of the Last Harvest sow'd the Seed:
  And the first Morning of Creation wrote
  What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.
  • LXXIII (1889)

• Yesterday This Day's Madness did prepare;
  To-morrow's Silence, Triumph, or Despair:
  Drink! for you know not whence you came, nor why:
  Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where.
  • LXXIV (1889)

• The Vine had struck a fibre: which about
  If clings my being — let the Dervish flout;
  Of my Base metal may be filed a Key,
  That shall unlock the Door he howls without.
  • LXXVI (1889)

• And this I know: whether the one True Light
  Kindle to Love, or Wrath-consume me quite,
  One Flash of It within the Tavern caught
  Better than in the Temple lost outright.
  • LXXVII (1889)

• What! out of senseless Nothing to provoke
  A conscious Something to resent the yoke
  Of unpermitted Pleasure, under pain
  Of Everlasting Penalties, if broke!
  • LXXVIII (1889)

• What! from his helpless Creature be repaid
  Pure Gold for what he lent him dross-allay'd —
  Sue for a Debt he never did contract,
  And cannot answer — Oh, the sorry trade!
  • LXXIX (1889)

• Oh Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make,
  And who with Eden didst devise the Snake;
  For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man
  Is blacken'd, Man's Forgiveness give — and take!
  • LVIII (1859)

• And ev'n with Paradise devise the Snake.
  • LXXXI (1889)

• And strange to tell, among that Earthen Lot
  Some could articulate, while others not:
  And suddenly one more impatient cried —
  "Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?"
  • LX (1859) · LXXXVII (1889)

• Said one — "Folks of a surly Tapster tell,
  "And daub his Visage with the Smoke of Hell;
  "They talk of some strict Testing of us—Pish!
  "He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well."
  • LXIV (1859)

• "Why," said another, "Some there are who tell
  Of one who threatens he will toss to Hell
  The luckless Pots he marr'd in making--Pish!
  "He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well."
  • LXXXVIII (1889)

• And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel,
  And robb'd me of my Robe of Honour — well,
  I often wonder what the Vintners buy
  One half so precious as the Goods they sell.
  • LXXI (1859)

• I wonder often what the Vintners buy
  One half so precious as the stuff they sell.
  • XCV (1889)

• One half so precious as the stuff they sell.
  • XCV (1889)

• Oh, Thou who Man of baser Earth didst make,
  And ev'n with Paradise devise the Snake:
  For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man
  Is blacken'd — Man's forgiveness give — and take!
  • LXXXI (1889)

• As under cover of departing Day
  Slunk hunger-stricken Ramazan away,
  Once more within the Potter's house alone
  I stood, surrounded by the Shapes of Clay.
  • LXXXII (1889)

• Shapes of all Sorts and Sizes, great and small,
  That stood along the floor and by the wall;
  And some loquacious Vessels were; and some
  Listen'd perhaps, but never talk'd at all.
  • LXXXIII (1889)

• Said one among them — "Surely not in vain
  My substance of the common Earth was ta'en
  And to this Figure moulded, to be broke,
  Or trampled back to shapeless Earth again."
  • LXXXIV (1889)

• Then said a Second — "Ne'er a peevish Boy
  Would break the Bowl from which he drank in joy,
  And He that with his hand the Vessel made
  Will surely not in after Wrath destroy."
  • LXXXV (1889)

After a momentary silence spake
Some Vessel of a more ungainly Make;
"They sneer at me for leaning all awry:
What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?"

• After a momentary silence spake
  Some Vessel of a more ungainly Make;
  "They sneer at me for leaning all awry:
  What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?"
  • LXXXVI (1889)

• "Well," Murmur'd one, "Let whoso make or buy,
  My Clay with long Oblivion is gone dry:
  But fill me with the old familiar juice,
  Methinks I might recover by and by."
  • LXXXIX (1889)

• Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide,
  And wash the Body whence the Life has died,
  And lay me, shrouded in the living Leaf,
  By some not unfrequented Garden-side.
  • XCI (1889)

• That ev'n my buried Ashes such a snare
  Of Vintage shall fling up into the Air
  As not a True-believer passing by
  But shall be overtaken unaware.
  • XCIi (1889)

• Indeed the Idols I have loved so long
  Have done my credit in this World much wrong:
  Have drown'd my Glory in a shallow Cup
  And sold my Reputation for a Song.
  • XCIII (1889)

• Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before
  I swore — but was I sober when I swore?
  And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand
  My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore.
  • XCIV (1889)

• Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!
  That Youth's sweet-scented Manuscript should close!
  The Nightingale that in the Branches sang,
  Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows!
  • LXXII (1859)

• Yet Ah, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!
  • XCVI (1889)

• Ah, Love! could thou and I with Fate conspire
  To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,
  Would not we shatter it to bits — and then
  Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!
  • LXXIII (1859)

• Ah Love! could you and I with Him conspire.
  • XCIX (1889)

• Ah, Moon of my Delight who know'st no wane,
  The Moon of Heav'n is rising once again:
  How oft hereafter rising shall she look
  Through this same Garden after me — in vain!
  • LXXIV (1859)

• Yon rising Moon that looks for us again —
  How oft hereafter will she wax and wane;
  How oft hereafter rising look for us
  Through this same Garden — and for one in vain!
  • C (1889)

• Would but some wing'ed Angel ere too late
  Arrest the yet unfolded Roll of Fate,
  And make the stern Recorder otherwise
  Enregister, or quite obliterate!
  • XCVIII (1889)

• And when Thyself with shining Foot shall pass
  Among the Guests Star-scatter'd on The Grass,
  And in Thy joyous Errand reach the Spot
  Where I made one — turn down an empty Glass!
  • LXXV (1859)

• And when like her, oh, Saki, you shall pass.
  • CI (1889)

• Tamám Shud. / It is finished.
  • See: Somerton Man

Le Gallienne, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1897, 1902)

Subtitled "A Paraphrase from Several Literal Translations"; see: Adam Talib, Le Gallienne's Paraphrase and the Limits of Translation (Cambridge University Press, 2012) pp. 175-176

• A 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.
  • p. 32 (1902)

• But here are wine and beautiful young girls,
  Be wise and hide your Sorrows in their curls,
   Dive as you will in life's mysterious sea,
  You shall not bring us any better pearls.
  • p. 45 (1902)

• Allah, perchance, the secret word might spell;
  If Allah be, He keeps His secret well;
   What He hath hidden, who shall hope to find?
  Shall God His secret to a maggot tell?
  • p. 45 (1902)

• The Koran! well, come put me to the test—
  Lovely old book in hideous error drest—
   Believe me, I can quote the Koran too,
  The unbeliever knows his Koran best.
  And do you think that unto such as you,
  A maggot-minded, starved, fanatic crew,
   God gave the secret, and denied it me?—
  Well, well, what matters it! believe that too.
  • p. 47 (1902)

A Dictionary of Oriental Quotations (1911)

Edited by Claud Field

• Down rain the tears from skies enwrapt in gloom
  Without this wine the tulips could not bloom.
  As now these flowerets yield delight to me
  So shall my dust yield flowers, God knows for whom.
  • p. 1 (Whinfield)

• Man is a cup, his soul the wine therein,
  Flesh is a pipe, spirit the voice therein,
  O Khayyam have you fathomed what man is?
  A magic lantern with a light therein.
  • p. 2 (Whinfield)

• Whilom, ere youth’s conceit had waned, me thought
  Answers to all life’s problems I had wrought;
  But now, grown old and wise, too late I see
  My life is spent, and all my lore is nought.
  • p. 7 (Whinfield)

• Nor you nor I can read the etern decree
  To that enigma we can find no key
  They talk of you and me behind the veil
  But if the veil be lifted, where are we?
  • p. 21 (Whinfield)

• He brought me hither to my great surprise
  From life I gather but a dark surmise;
  I go perforce. Why come? Why live? Why go?
  I ask these questions, but find no replies.
  • p. 23 (Whinfield)

• We come and go, but for the gain, where is it?
  And spin life’s woof, but for the warp, where is it?
  And many a righteous man has burned to dust
  In heaven’s blue rondure, but their smoke where is it?
  • p. 25 (Whinfield)

• Man cannot change what pen hath writ of yore,
  Diet of sorrow breedeth heart-pang sore;
  Spend thy whole life in shedding tears of blood,
  Thou can’st not add one tear-drop to thy store.
  • p. 26 (Whinfield)

• These fools by dint of ignorance most crass,
  Think they in wisdom all mankind surpass;
  And glibly do they damn as infidel
  Each one who is not, like themselves, an ass.
  • p. 27 (Whinfield)

• Tn taverns better far commune with Thee
  Than pray in mosques and fail Thy face to see!
  O first and last of all thy creatures Thou,
  'Tis thine to burn and thine to cherish me.
  • p. 31 (Whinfield)

• Is a friend faithless? Spurn him as a foe,
  But on trustworthy foes respect bestow,
  Hold healing poison for an antidote,
  And baneful sweets for deadly eisel know.
  • p. 32 (Whinfield)

• Open the door! O warder best and purest,
  And guide the way, O thou, of guides the surest!
  Directors born of men shall not direct me,
  Their counsel comes to nought, but thou endurest.
  • pp. 34–35 (Whinfield)

• Bulbuls doting on roses oft complain
  How froward breezes rend their veils in twain
  Sit we beneath this rose which many a time
  Has sprung from earth and dropped to earth again.
  • p. 36 (Whinfield)

• Pagodas like as mosques are homes of prayer,
  ’Tis prayer that church-bells chime into the air;
  Yea, church and ka’ba, rosary and cross
  Are all but divers tongues of world-wide prayer.
  • p. 41 (Whinfield)

• So many cups of wine will I consume
  Its bouquet shall exhale from out my tomb;
  And every one that passes by shall halt,
  And reel and stagger with that mighty fume.
  • p. 42 (Whinfield)

• No longer hug your grief and vain despair
  But in this unjust world be just and fair
  And since the substance of the world is naught
  Deem yourself naught and so shake off dull care.
  • p. 43 (Whinfield)

• When I am dead, with wine my body lave,
  For obit chant a bacchanalian stave,
  And if you need me at the day of doom,
  Beneath the tavern threshold seek my grave
  • p. 53 (Whinfield)

• Since all we gain in this abode of woe
  Is sorrow’s pangs to feel and grief to know,
  Happy are they that never come at all,
  And they, that, having come, the soonest go.
  • p. 54 (Whinfield)

• Fate will not bend to humour man’s caprice,
  So vaunt not human powers but hold your peace,
  Here must we stay, weighed down with grief for this,
  That we were born so late, so soon decease.
  • p. 54 (Whinfield)

• Like tulips in the spring your cups lift up
  And with a tulip-cheeked companion sup
  With joy your wine, or e’er this azure wheel
  With some unlooked for blast upset your cup.
  • p. 55 (Whinfield)

• When the fair spirit doth this house vacate,
  Each element resumes its primal state
  And these four strands of life, like threads of silk
  Are all unravelled by the blows of fate.
  • p. 57 (Whinfield)

• Since no one can assure thee of the morrow
  Rejoice thy heart to-day and banish sorrow
  With moon-bright wine, fair moon! the moon in heaven
  Will look for us in vain on many a morrow.
  • p. 58 (Whinfield)

• You know the secret of this life my dear
  Then why remain a prey to useless fear?
  Bend things to suit your whims you cannot; yet
  Cheer up for the few moments you are here.
  • p. 58 (Whinfield)

• O Thou who givest sight to emmet’s eyes
  And strength to feeble limbs of puny flies
  To Thee we will ascribe omnipotence
  No meaner attribute to Thee applies.
  • p. 63 (Whinfield)

• All mortal ken is bounded by the veil,
  To see beyond man’s vision is too frail;
  Yea! earth’s dark bosom is his only home;
  Alas! ’twere long to tell the doleful tale.
  • pp. 63–64 (Whinfield)

• When seeking love, pay court to every heart,
  When once admitted, seek the perfect heart
  A hundred ka’bas equal not one heart;
  eek not the ka’ba, rather seek the heart.
  • p. 64 (Whinfield)

• I saw a busy potter by the way
  Kneading with might and main a lump of clay;
  And lo! the clay cried ‘Use me tenderly,
  I was a man myself but yesterday.’
  • p. 68 (Whinfield)

• If the heart knew life’s secrets here below,
  At death ’twould know God’s secret’s too, I trow;
  But if you know naught here, while still yourself,
  To-morrow, stripped of self, what can you know?
  • pp. 68-69 (Whinfield)

• Suppose the world goes well with you, what then?
  When life’s last page is read and turned, what then?
  Suppose you live a hundred years of bliss
  Yea, and a hundred more to boot, what then?
  • p. 71 (Whinfield)

• You see the world but all you see is naught,
  And all you say and all you hear is naught,
  Naught the four quarters of the mighty earth,
  The secrets treasured in your chamber naught.
  • p. 71 (Whinfield)

• My critics call me a philosopher
  But Allah knows full well they greatly err,
  I know not even what I am, much less
  What is the reason that I sojourn here.
  • p. 71 (Whinfield)

• x
  • p. 74

• x
  • p. 77

• x
  • p. 81

• My body’s life and strength proceed from Thee,
  My soul within and spirit are of Thee,
  My being is of Thee and Thou art mine,
  And I am thine, since I am lost in Thee.
  • p. 82 (Whinfield)

• x
  • p. 88

• x
  • p. 94

• x
  • p. 96

• x
  • p. 98

• x
  • p. 112

• x
  • p. 114

• x
  • p. 115

• x
  • p. 119

• See! the dawn breaks and rends night’s canopy;
  Arise! and drain a morning draught with me!
  Away with gloom! full many a dawn will break
  Looking for us, and we not here to see.
  • p. 123 (Whinfield)

• This circle of the universe resembles a ring,
  Unquestionably we are the signet engraved on its bezel.
  • p. 129 (Nicholson)

• x
  • p. 130

• x
  • p. 134

• x
  • p. 136

• Allah hath promised wine in Paradise,
  Why then is wine on earth declared a vice.
  • p. 137 (Whinfield)

• There is a chalice made with art profound,
  And with its Maker’s approbation crowned,
  Yet the world’s Potter takes His masterpiece
  And dashes it to pieces on the ground.
  • p. 139 (Whinfield)

• For him that’s good my very life I’d sell,
  Yea, though he trod me down, I’d count it well,
  Men say ‘Inform us what and where is hell?’
  Bad company will make this earth a hell.
  • pp. 140–141 (Whinfield)

• x
  • p. 149

• x
  • p. 154

• x
  • p. 163

• To-day to love and rapture we have soared,
  To-day in Magian precincts wine adored,
  And rapt beyond ourselves we do abide,
  Within that tavern, ‘Am I not your Lord?’
  • p. 174 (Whinfield)

• x
  • p. 177

• x
  • p. 180

• x
  • p. 185

• x
  • p. 190

• x
  • p. 192

• x
  • p. 205

• x
  • p. 207

• x
  • p. 210

• x
  • p. 218

• x
  • p. 221

• Ah! thou hast snared this head though white as snow,
  Which oft has vowed the wine-cup to forego,
  And wrecked the mansion long resolve did build,
  And rent the vesture penitence did sew.
  • p. 224 (Whinfield)

• x
  • p. 227

• x
  • p. 232

• x
  • p. 233

• x
  • p. 239

• x
  • p. 241

• x
  • p. 245

• x
  • p. 248

• On that dread day when wrath shall rend the sky,
  And darkness dim the bright stars’ galaxy,
  I’ll seize the Loved One by the skirt and cry,
  ‘Why hast thou doomed these guiltless ones to die?’
  • p. 251 (Whinfield)

• x
  • p. 258

• x
  • p. 259

• x
  • p. 261

• x
  • p. 262

• x
  • p. 265

• x
  • p. 269

• x
  • p. 270

• x
  • p. 271

• x
  • p. 272

• x
  • p. 273

• x
  • p. 276

• Against death’s arrows what are bucklers worth?
  What all the pomps and riches of the earth?
  When I survey the world I see no good
  But goodness, all beside is nothing worth.
  • p. 278 (Whinfield)

• x
  • p. 285

• x
  • p. 290

• If you seek Him, abandon child and wife,
  Forsake and sever all these ties to life;
  All these are bonds that check your upward course,
  Arise and cut these bonds as with a knife.
  • p. 292 (Whinfield)

• x
  • p. 306

• x
  • p. 310

• x
  • p. 311

• x
  • p. 312

• x
  • p. 313

• x
  • p. 321

• x
  • p. 325

Quotes about Khayyám

• Khayyam measured the length of the year as 365.24219858156 days. Two comments on this result. Firstly it shows an incredible confidence to attempt to give the result to this degree of accuracy. We know now that the length of the year is changing in the sixth decimal place over a person's lifetime. Secondly it is outstandingly accurate. For comparison the length of the year at the end of the 19th century was 365.242196 days, while today it is 365.242190 days.
  • J. J. O'Connor and E. F. Robertson, "Omar Khayyam". MacTutor (July 1999)