Translated into English in 1859 by Edward FitzGerald

I.
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.

II.
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."

III.
And, as the **** 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."

IV.
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.

V.
Iram indeed is gone with all its Rose,
And Jamshyd'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.

VI.
And David's Lips are lock't; but in divine
High piping Pehlevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!
Red Wine!" -- the Nightingale cries to the Rose
That yellow Cheek of hers to incarnadine.

VII.
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.

VIII.
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 kep falling one by one.

IX.
Morning a thousand Roses brings, you say;
Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?
And this first Summer month that brings the Rose
Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.

X.
But come with old Khayyam, and leave the Lot
Of Kaikobad and Kaikhosru forgot:
Let Rustum lay about him as he will,
Or Hatim Tai cry Supper -- heed them not.

XI.
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 is Mahmud on his Golden Throne!

XII.
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!

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

XIV.
Were it not Folly, Spider-like to spin
The Thread of present Life away to win --
What? for ourselves, who know not if we shall
Breathe out the very Breath we now breathe in!

XV.
Look to the Rose that blows about us -- "Lo,
Laughing," she says, "into the World I blow:
At once the silken Tassel of my Purse
Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."

XVI.
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.

XVII.
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.

XVIII.
Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai
Whose Doorways are alternate Night and Day,
How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp
Abode his Hour or two and went his way.

XIX.
They say the Lion and the Lizard keep
The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep:
And Bahram, that great Hunter -- the Wild ***
Stamps o'er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep.

**.
I sometimes think that never blows so red
The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled;
That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head.

XXI.
And this delightful Herb whose tender Green
Fledges the River's Lip on which we lean --
Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows
From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!

XXII.
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.

XXIII.
Lo! some we loved, the loveliest and 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.

XXIV.
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?

XXV.
Ah, make the most of what we may yet 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!

XXVI.
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!"

XXVII.
Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd
Of the Two Worlds so learnedly, are ******
Like foolish Prophets forth; their Works to Scorn
Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.

XXVIII.
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 forever dies.

XXIX.
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.

***.
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."

XXXI.
Into this Universe, and Why not knowing,
Nor Whence, like Water *****-nilly flowing:
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
I know not Whither, *****-nilly blowing.

XXXII.
Up from Earth's Centre through the Seventh Gate
I rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate,
And many Knots unravel'd by the Road;
But not the Master-Knot of Human Fate.

XXXIII.
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.

XXXIV.
Then to the rolling Heav'n itself I cried,
Asking, "What Lamp had Destiny to guide
Her little Children stumbling in the Dark?"
And -- "A blind Understanding!" Heav'n replied.

XXXV.
Then to the Lip of this poor earthen Urn
I lean'd, the secret Well of Life to learn:
And Lip to Lip it murmur'd -- "While you live,
Drink! -- for, once dead, you never shall return."

XXXVI.
I think the Vessel, that with fugitive
Articulation answer'd, once did live,
And merry-make, and the cold Lip I kiss'd,
How many Kisses might it take -- and give!

XXXVII.
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!"

XXXVIII.
And has not such a Story from of Old
Down Man's successive generations roll'd
Of such a clod of saturated Earth
Cast by the Maker into Human mould?

XXXIX.
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!

XL.
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!

XLI.
Oh, plagued no more with Human or Divine,
To-morrow's tangle to itself resign,
And lose your fingers in the tresses of
The Cypress-slender Minister of Wine.

XLII.
Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuit
Of This and That endeavor and dispute;
Better be merry with the fruitful Grape
Than sadden after none, or bitter, fruit.

XLIII.
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.

XLIV.
And lately, by the Tavern Door agape,
Came stealing through the Dusk an Angel Shape
Bearing a Vessel on his Shoulder; and
He bid me taste of it; and 'twas -- the Grape!

XLV.
The Grape that can with Logic absolute
The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute:
The subtle Alchemest that in a Trice
Life's leaden Metal into Gold transmute.

XLVI.
Why, be this Juice the growth of God, who dare
Blaspheme the twisted tendril as Snare?
A Blessing, we should use it, should we not?
And if a Curse -- why, then, Who set it there?

XLVII.
But leave the Wise to wrangle, and with me
The Quarrel of the Universe let be:
And, in some corner of the Hubbub couch'd,
Make Game of that which makes as much of Thee.

XLVIII.
For in and out, above, about, below,
'Tis nothing but a Magic Shadow-show,
Play'd in a Box whose Candle is the Sun,
Round which we Phantom Figures come and go.

XLIX.
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.

L.
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 fellows, and to Sleep return'd.

LI.
Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside,
And naked on the Air of Heaven ride,
Is't not a shame -- Is't not a shame for him
So long in this Clay suburb to abide?

LII.
But that is but a Tent wherein may rest
A Sultan to the realm of Death addrest;
The Sultan rises, and the dark Ferrash
Strikes, and prepares it for another guest.

LIII.
I sent my Soul through the Invisible,
Some letter of that After-life to spell:
And after many days my Soul return'd
And said, "Behold, Myself am Heav'n and Hell."

LIV.
Heav'n but the Vision of fulfill'd Desire,
And Hell the Shadow of a Soul on fire,
Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves,
So late emerg'd from, shall so soon expire.

LV.
While the Rose blows along the River Brink,
With old Khayyam and ruby vintage drink:
And when the Angel with his darker Draught
Draws up to Thee -- take that, and do not shrink.

LVI.
And fear not lest Existence closing your
Account, should lose, or know the type no more;
The Eternal Saki from the Bowl has pour'd
Millions of Bubbls like us, and will pour.

LVII.
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 much as Ocean of a pebble-cast.

LVIII.
'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.

LIX.
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!

LX.
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.

LXI.
For let Philosopher and Doctor preach
Of what they will, and what they will not -- each
Is but one Link in an eternal Chain
That none can slip, nor break, nor over-reach.

LXII.
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.

LXIII.
With Earth's first Clay They did the Last Man knead,
And then of the Last Harvest sow'd the Seed:
Yea, the first Morning of Creation wrote
What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.

LXIV.
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.

LXV.
I tell You this -- When, starting from the Goal,
Over the shoulders of the flaming Foal
Of Heav'n Parwin and Mushtari they flung,
In my predestin'd Plot of Dust and Soul.

LXVI.
The Vine has struck a fiber: 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.

LXVII.
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.

LXVIII.
What! out of senseless Nothing to provoke
A conscious Something to resent the yoke
Of unpermitted Pleasure, under pain
Of Everlasting Penalties, if broke!

LXIX.
What! from his helpless Creature be repaid
Pure Gold for what he lent us dross-allay'd --
Sue for a Debt we never did contract,
And cannot answer -- Oh the sorry trade!

LXX.
Nay, but for terror of his wrathful Face,
I swear I will not call Injustice Grace;
Not one Good Fellow of the Tavern but
Would kick so poor a Coward from the place.

LXXI.
Oh Thou, who didst with pitfall and with gin
Beset the Road I was to wander in,
Thou will not with Predestin'd Evil round
Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin?

LXXII.
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!

LXXIII.
Listen again. One Evening at the Close
Of Ramazan, ere the better Moon arose,
In that old Potter's Shop I stood alone
With the clay Population round in Rows.

LXXIV.
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 ***?"

LXXV.
Then said another -- "Surely not in vain
My Substance from the common Earth was ta'en,
That He who subtly wrought me into Shape
Should stamp me back to common Earth again."

LXXVI.
Another said -- "Why, ne'er a peevish Boy,
Would break the Bowl from which he drank in Joy;
Shall He that made the vessel in pure Love
And Fancy, in an after Rage destroy?"

LXXVII.
None answer'd this; but after Silence spake
A Vessel of a more ungainly Make:
"They sneer at me for leaning all awry;
What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?"

LXXVIII:
"Why," said another, "Some there are who tell
Of one who threatens he will toss to Hell
The luckless Pots he marred in making -- Pish!
He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well."

LXXIX.
Then said another with a long-drawn Sigh,
"My Clay with long oblivion is gone dry:
But, fill me with the old familiar Juice,
Methinks I might recover by-and-by!"

LXXX.
So while the Vessels one by one were speaking,
The Little Moon look'd in that all were seeking:
And then they jogg'd each other, "Brother! Brother!
Now for the Porter's shoulder-knot a-creaking!"

LXXXI.
Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide,
And wash my Body whence the Life has died,
And in a Windingsheet of Vine-leaf wrapt,
So bury me by some sweet Garden-side.

LXXXII.
That ev'n my buried Ashes such a Snare
Of Perfume shall fling up into the Air,
As not a True Believer passing by
But shall be overtaken unaware.

LXXXIII.
Indeed the Idols I have loved so long
Have done my Credit in Men's Eye much wrong:
Have drown'd my Honour in a shallow Cup,
And sold my Reputation for a Song.

LXXXIV.
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.

LXXXV.
And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel,
And robb'd me of my Robe of Honor -- well,
I often wonder what the Vintners buy
One half so precious as the Goods they sell.

LXXXVI.
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!

LXXXVII.
Would but the Desert of the Fountain yield
One glimpse -- If dimly, yet indeed, reveal'd
To which the fainting Traveller might spring,
As springs the trampled herbage of the field!

LXXXVIII.
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!

LXXXIX.
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!

XC.
And when like her, oh Saki, you shall pass
Among the Guests star-scatter'd on the Grass,
And in your joyous errand reach the spot
Where I made one -- turn down an empty Glass!

I.
गोदै बिमा नोँनि रावआ
रिङो गिदिँ गिदिँ खोमायाव
आं रंजायो आयै
आं रंजायो मिनिस्लुयो।
II.
आयै आं गाबनो ओँखारो
नोँनि खुसि नुनानै
मानोना आंदि मेँग्लियो
नोँनि अननाय बेसे सान्नानै।
III.
मा होननानै बावहरगोन आयै
मोदै बोहैयो नोँनि अननायाव
बेसेबांदि हुरा हुरा गोसोखाङो
आयै नोँ थैया गोरबोआव।
IV.
नोँ फेदेरबाय आयै फिसाखौ
मानबायै मानबायै
थाबायै थाबायै
आं गाखोबाय मिजिँआव।
V.
आं गाबो आयै दिनैबो
नोँनि मिजिँआव रंजानाय सुखिखौ
आयै मादि अननाय नोँनि!
आं फिसियो उजियाव।
VI.
गोसोआव रंजानाय आरो
आयै मादि नोँनि फिसाखौ
जिउ जोनोम मोनसेनि अननाय
बावनाय नङा आंलाय गोरबोजोँ।
VII.
आथिँ जोकथोँ बिखुंआव
मिनि मिनि मोसानाय
आयै नोँ बावनो हाया फिसाखौ
मा दं आं नोँनि अनगायै?
आयै नोँ गोजोनै थागोन।
VIII.
जिरि जिरि बोहैनाय मोदैया
दिनै लिरो खन्थाइखौ
आयै मुंजोँ नोँनि लेखा बिलाइयाव
मादि अननाय आयै नोँहा
जिउ जोनोम सानसे।
IX.
नोँ आंनि थसे लेम्प
मिनिस्लु फुथुयो गोजोन समाव
आयै नोँ सोरां आंनि।
X.
आं नोँखौ नुदोँ आयै
आं मिनिस्लुदोँ मोखांआव।
नोँनि आखायाव दिन्दौनाय
आं होमब्ला उन्दैमोन।
XI.
आं गाबदोँमोन अब्ला
हायाव आखाय सुंनानै।
आं नोँखौ नागिरदोँमोन
अब्ला नोँ बामखांफैदोँ।
XII.
साना ओँखारबायमोन आयै
खोमसिया खारलांबायमोन।
आंनि मेगनाव मैखि खानाय
बिलिरो आयै नोँ दुंब्रुद दै।
XIII.
नोँखौ साबायखर होयो आयै
हायना लाबोबाय मिथिँगा नोँ
आं गोग्गा आयै नायहरै-
आं गाबज्रि हरो आयै होन्ना।
XIV.
नोँ आंखौ मोजां मोनो आयै
नोँ आंखौ बोजबना लायो,
आं मिथिगौ नोँ फोरोँङो रायनो
नोँ फोरोँङो नायनो लामाखौ।
XV.
सोर आंखौ नागिरदोँ?
सोर आंखौ खुदुमदोँ?
रावबो नङा सिगां
नोँल' आयै, नोँ आंनि
जेब्ला आं उन्दै गथ'मोन।
XVI.
आं खोनादोँ आयै, आं
नोँदि आंखौ मानो गाबज्रिदोँ,
नोँनि गोदै गारांखौ
बुजिदोँ आं गेलेनाय समावबो।
XVII.
आंखौ बिखुंआव बानानै
थांनो होआखै अखायाव
आयै अनसुलि नोँ
आं मिथिगौ, आं मिथिगौ
बेसे सांग्रां नोँ लामायाव।
XVIII.
जेब्लाबो आंजोँनो लोगोसे
जोँनि बोथोरा गुस्लायलांदोँ,
नायहरो अखाफोर हार्थखि
आयै नोँ आंनो सल' खिन्था खिन्था।
XIX.
मेगननि मोदै हुगारनानै
मिनिस्लु मोखांआ बिबार बारो
आं खुसियै रंजायो आयै
बाज्ल' खाङो नोँनि बिखायाव।
**.
दाउखा बिदै जोमैनि खोमसियाव
फ्लाम अखा मोफ्लामनाय
एरसोदोँमोन आयै आं
ग्रुम खोरोमनाय अखा समाव
अनसुलि आयै गोबादोँमोन बिखायाव।
XXI.
समायना जायख्लंनि गाबखौ
बिजिरख'नो हायै नायहरो आं
आसि थुहाबना सोमो नाङो
आयै नोँ आंनो फोरमायो
दोँसे नोङो सल' खिन्थायो।
XXII.
मोदै रय रय बोहैबोयो
हब्रा हब्रा गाबख्रावो
आयै नोँनो आयै अनसुलि
नोँ आंखौ बामखांना गोबायो।
XXIII.
नोँनि मेगना सान आयै
नोँनि गोसोआ अखाफोर
दै, बार, मिथिँगा अख्रां
नोँ आंनि जिउ सोलेर।
XXIV.
मोदै बोहैयो अख्रांनि
आं सोङो अब्ला
आयै नोँनि गाबनाय मानि?
XXV.
आं दिनै सानो अराय
साबसिन गैया अनसुलि नोँनि,
जायखौ नोँ होदोँ आंनो
राव, फाव गोसो आरो
जिउ सोलेर मेगन।
XXVI.
नोँनि मिनिनायखौ मोजां मोनो
मानोना आंहा गोसोआव दं
नोँनि रंजानाया गोजोन होयो
मानोना आं नुदोँ बेखौ
आयै बहा बावनो बोरै?
अनसुलि जिउ नोँनि।
XXVII.
आखायाव हमनानै थाबायनो फोरोँनाय
नुदोँ मिनिस्लु सायखंखौबो,
फिसा आं नोँनि अनजालु
गाबनाय मिनिनाय लोगोसे।
XXVIII.
बोसोर बोसोर थांबाय
दैज्लां- मेसेँ माघ फागुन
बोथोरा गोबां रुंगलांबाय
आं मोन्दोँ अब्लाबो गोरबो
नोँनि रंजानाय- मिनिनाय
गोसोआव दं आयै आंहा।
XXIX.
आं दिनै गोसो खांदोँ-
आं जेब्ला नायहरो अखोरां
सिलानि दैस्लुंआव गोमोनानै
नोँ खिन्थायो बिलिर बिलिर सल'बाथा।
***.
आयै, नोँ जोबोद समायना आयै
जोबोद अनसुलि,
नंगौ नोँ बोलोगोरा
आं नुबाय आंखौ दबथायबाय।
XXXI.
जेब्लाबो आंखौ सान्नो होयो
नोँ अनसुलि, जेब्ला आं दुष्ट,
नोँ आंखौ दैबायो
जेब्ला थाबायनो साजायो।
XXXII.
नोँ आंखौ गोबा फैयो
जेब्लानो आं लेँहरो,
नोँ आंखौ साबसिन अनो
जायखौ आं मिथिगौ सान्नानै।
XXXIII.
आं नोँखौ साबायखर होयो
जेब्ला आंनो नोँखौ खुलुमो,
नोँनो सासेल' आयै गोहोनि
अनसुलि जायखौ सायख'दोँ।
XXXIV.
बहा मोना नोँ आयै
जेब्लाबो अन्नो गावनि फिसाखौ?
बेसेबा गोहो गोसोआव
गावनि फिसाखौ फोरोँनो।
XXXV.
जायखौ आं नाजादोँ
बेखौनो सान्दोँ नोँ आयै
जोँथि माथि हार्थखि रुजुननो,
नोँ आंनि फोरोँगिरि
नोँनो आंनि जोथोनगिरि नार्स।
XXXVI.
दैबायगिरि सोरां बाथि आयै
आं दिनै लाइमोननि लामायाव,
आं मिथिगौ आयै
रावबो गैलिया गोहोनि नोँनि अनगा।
XXXVII.
जाय जेब्लाबो नायहरो
जाय आंखौ रैखा होयो
जाय जेब्लाबो लोगोसे
नोँ आयै आंनि लोगोथार।
XXXVIII.
नोँ आंखौ फोरोँङो आयै
बबे सैथो बबे गोरोन्थि
सायखयो मोजां गाज्रि आं
नोँनि फोरोँनाय बेनिफ्रायनो।
XXXIX.
आं लोमजायो आं बोराबो
नोँ आंखौ मदद खालामो मोजांङै,
नोँहा आयेन दं-
बेनिफ्रायनो आं लामायाव।
XL.
नोँ जेब्लाबो जेरैबो
दैबायो आंखौ सोरां जिउआव
आंनि बिखायाव दा आबुं आयै
नोँखौ अराय मोजां मोन्नाय।
XLI.
आंनि आयै नोँनो
आंनि लोगो, आंनि फोरोँगिरि
आंनि अबं आरो अराय
अनसायजाथाव मिथिँगा मुलुग।
XLII.
नागिरबायो आयै नोँनि रंजानायखौ
जेब्ला आं सिमां नुयो मोजां,
नंगौ आयै सैथो मोकथांआ।
XLIII.
नोँ आंखौ मदद होगोन मिथिँगा
जोबलांजासे आंनि सोलेरा,
आरो समायना जिउ बिरग' जासे।
नांगौ मदद साननि उनाव सान।
XLIV.
आयै नोँनि अनसायनाय
माजोँ रुजुनो हागौ आंङो?
गैया आयै रुजुथाव नोँनि-
बेसे समायना मुलुग मिथिँगा
होयो आरो लायो बोथोरादि।
XLV.
नोँनि अन्नाय बिलिरनाय बेनो
मोनसे मिजिँ आरो सान्दांथि,
उन्दै समनि थाबायनाय
गोहो होनाय सांग्रांथि।
XLVI.
दिनै नोँ मिनिदोँ,
आयै नोँ उन्दुलांदोँ।
नोँ मा सिमां नुदोँ आयै?
नोँनि मोदैया मानि साथि?
मोजां मोन्नायनि आयै-
नै सना आंनि?
XLVII.
बेसे खुसि, बेसे मिजिँ
बेसे सिमां, बेसे आसा
आयै नोँनि आंनि मोकथां
आं सानो आं रनसायो।

Cuatro cosas tiene el hombre
que no sirven en la mar:
ancla, gobernalle y remos,
y miedo de naufragar.

I.
Fair Isabel, poor simple Isabel!
Lorenzo, a young palmer in Love's eye!
They could not in the self-same mansion dwell
Without some stir of heart, some malady;
They could not sit at meals but feel how well
It soothed each to be the other by;
They could not, sure, beneath the same roof sleep
But to each other dream, and nightly weep.

II.
With every morn their love grew tenderer,
With every eve deeper and tenderer still;
He might not in house, field, or garden stir,
But her full shape would all his seeing fill;
And his continual voice was pleasanter
To her, than noise of trees or hidden rill;
Her lute-string gave an echo of his name,
She spoilt her half-done broidery with the same.

III.
He knew whose gentle hand was at the latch,
Before the door had given her to his eyes;
And from her chamber-window he would catch
Her beauty farther than the falcon spies;
And constant as her vespers would he watch,
Because her face was turn'd to the same skies;
And with sick longing all the night outwear,
To hear her morning-step upon the stair.

IV.
A whole long month of May in this sad plight
Made their cheeks paler by the break of June:
"To morrow will I bow to my delight,
"To-morrow will I ask my lady's boon."--
"O may I never see another night,
"Lorenzo, if thy lips breathe not love's tune."--
So spake they to their pillows; but, alas,
Honeyless days and days did he let pass;

V.
Until sweet Isabella's untouch'd cheek
Fell sick within the rose's just domain,
Fell thin as a young mother's, who doth seek
By every lull to cool her infant's pain:
"How ill she is," said he, "I may not speak,
"And yet I will, and tell my love all plain:
"If looks speak love-laws, I will drink her tears,
"And at the least 'twill startle off her cares."

VI.
So said he one fair morning, and all day
His heart beat awfully against his side;
And to his heart he inwardly did pray
For power to speak; but still the ruddy tide
Stifled his voice, and puls'd resolve away--
Fever'd his high conceit of such a bride,
Yet brought him to the meekness of a child:
Alas! when passion is both meek and wild!

VII.
So once more he had wak'd and anguished
A dreary night of love and misery,
If Isabel's quick eye had not been wed
To every symbol on his forehead high;
She saw it waxing very pale and dead,
And straight all flush'd; so, lisped tenderly,
"Lorenzo!"--here she ceas'd her timid quest,
But in her tone and look he read the rest.

VIII.
"O Isabella, I can half perceive
"That I may speak my grief into thine ear;
"If thou didst ever any thing believe,
"Believe how I love thee, believe how near
"My soul is to its doom: I would not grieve
"Thy hand by unwelcome pressing, would not fear
"Thine eyes by gazing; but I cannot live
"Another night, and not my passion shrive.

IX.
"Love! thou art leading me from wintry cold,
"Lady! thou leadest me to summer clime,
"And I must taste the blossoms that unfold
"In its ripe warmth this gracious morning time."
So said, his erewhile timid lips grew bold,
And poesied with hers in dewy rhyme:
Great bliss was with them, and great happiness
Grew, like a ***** flower in June's caress.

X.
Parting they seem'd to tread upon the air,
Twin roses by the zephyr blown apart
Only to meet again more close, and share
The inward fragrance of each other's heart.
She, to her chamber gone, a ditty fair
Sang, of delicious love and honey'd dart;
He with light steps went up a western hill,
And bade the sun farewell, and joy'd his fill.

XI.
All close they met again, before the dusk
Had taken from the stars its pleasant veil,
All close they met, all eves, before the dusk
Had taken from the stars its pleasant veil,
Close in a bower of hyacinth and musk,
Unknown of any, free from whispering tale.
Ah! better had it been for ever so,
Than idle ears should pleasure in their woe.

XII.
Were they unhappy then?--It cannot be--
Too many tears for lovers have been shed,
Too many sighs give we to them in fee,
Too much of pity after they are dead,
Too many doleful stories do we see,
Whose matter in bright gold were best be read;
Except in such a page where Theseus' spouse
Over the pathless waves towards him bows.

XIII.
But, for the general award of love,
The little sweet doth **** much bitterness;
Though Dido silent is in under-grove,
And Isabella's was a great distress,
Though young Lorenzo in warm Indian clove
Was not embalm'd, this truth is not the less--
Even bees, the little almsmen of spring-bowers,
Know there is richest juice in poison-flowers.

XIV.
With her two brothers this fair lady dwelt,
Enriched from ancestral merchandize,
And for them many a weary hand did swelt
In torched mines and noisy factories,
And many once proud-quiver'd ***** did melt
In blood from stinging whip;--with hollow eyes
Many all day in dazzling river stood,
To take the rich-ored driftings of the flood.

XV.
For them the Ceylon diver held his breath,
And went all naked to the hungry shark;
For them his ears gush'd blood; for them in death
The seal on the cold ice with piteous bark
Lay full of darts; for them alone did seethe
A thousand men in troubles wide and dark:
Half-ignorant, they turn'd an easy wheel,
That set sharp racks at work, to pinch and peel.

XVI.
Why were they proud? Because their marble founts
Gush'd with more pride than do a wretch's tears?--
Why were they proud? Because fair orange-mounts
Were of more soft ascent than lazar stairs?--
Why were they proud? Because red-lin'd accounts
Were richer than the songs of Grecian years?--
Why were they proud? again we ask aloud,
Why in the name of Glory were they proud?

XVII.
Yet were these Florentines as self-retired
In hungry pride and gainful cowardice,
As two close Hebrews in that land inspired,
Paled in and vineyarded from beggar-spies,
The hawks of ship-mast forests--the untired
And pannier'd mules for ducats and old lies--
Quick cat's-paws on the generous stray-away,--
Great wits in Spanish, Tuscan, and Malay.

XVIII.
How was it these same ledger-men could spy
Fair Isabella in her downy nest?
How could they find out in Lorenzo's eye
A straying from his toil? Hot Egypt's pest
Into their vision covetous and sly!
How could these money-bags see east and west?--
Yet so they did--and every dealer fair
Must see behind, as doth the hunted hare.

XIX.
O eloquent and famed Boccaccio!
Of thee we now should ask forgiving boon,
And of thy spicy myrtles as they blow,
And of thy roses amorous of the moon,
And of thy lilies, that do paler grow
Now they can no more hear thy ghittern's tune,
For venturing syllables that ill beseem
The quiet glooms of such a piteous theme.

**.
Grant thou a pardon here, and then the tale
Shall move on soberly, as it is meet;
There is no other crime, no mad assail
To make old prose in modern rhyme more sweet:
But it is done--succeed the verse or fail--
To honour thee, and thy gone spirit greet;
To stead thee as a verse in English tongue,
An echo of thee in the north-wind sung.

XXI.
These brethren having found by many signs
What love Lorenzo for their sister had,
And how she lov'd him too, each unconfines
His bitter thoughts to other, well nigh mad
That he, the servant of their trade designs,
Should in their sister's love be blithe and glad,
When 'twas their plan to coax her by degrees
To some high noble and his olive-trees.

XXII.
And many a jealous conference had they,
And many times they bit their lips alone,
Before they fix'd upon a surest way
To make the youngster for his crime atone;
And at the last, these men of cruel clay
Cut Mercy with a sharp knife to the bone;
For they resolved in some forest dim
To **** Lorenzo, and there bury him.

XXIII.
So on a pleasant morning, as he leant
Into the sun-rise, o'er the balustrade
Of the garden-terrace, towards him they bent
Their footing through the dews; and to him said,
"You seem there in the quiet of content,
"Lorenzo, and we are most loth to invade
"Calm speculation; but if you are wise,
"Bestride your steed while cold is in the skies.

XXIV.
"To-day we purpose, ay, this hour we mount
"To spur three leagues towards the Apennine;
"Come down, we pray thee, ere the hot sun count
"His dewy rosary on the eglantine."
Lorenzo, courteously as he was wont,
Bow'd a fair greeting to these serpents' whine;
And went in haste, to get in readiness,
With belt, and spur, and bracing huntsman's dress.

XXV.
And as he to the court-yard pass'd along,
Each third step did he pause, and listen'd oft
If he could hear his lady's matin-song,
Or the light whisper of her footstep soft;
And as he thus over his passion hung,
He heard a laugh full musical aloft;
When, looking up, he saw her features bright
Smile through an in-door lattice, all delight.

XXVI.
"Love, Isabel!" said he, "I was in pain
"Lest I should miss to bid thee a good morrow:
"Ah! what if I should lose thee, when so fain
"I am to stifle all the heavy sorrow
"Of a poor three hours' absence? but we'll gain
"Out of the amorous dark what day doth borrow.
"Good bye! I'll soon be back."--"Good bye!" said she:--
And as he went she chanted merrily.

XXVII.
So the two brothers and their ******'d man
Rode past fair Florence, to where Arno's stream
Gurgles through straiten'd banks, and still doth fan
Itself with dancing bulrush, and the bream
Keeps head against the freshets. Sick and wan
The brothers' faces in the ford did seem,
Lorenzo's flush with love.--They pass'd the water
Into a forest quiet for the slaughter.

XXVIII.
There was Lorenzo slain and buried in,
There in that forest did his great love cease;
Ah! when a soul doth thus its freedom win,
It aches in loneliness--is ill at peace
As the break-covert blood-hounds of such sin:
They dipp'd their swords in the water, and did tease
Their horses homeward, with convulsed spur,
Each richer by his being a murderer.

XXIX.
They told their sister how, with sudden speed,
Lorenzo had ta'en ship for foreign lands,
Because of some great urgency and need
In their affairs, requiring trusty hands.
Poor Girl! put on thy stifling widow's ****,
And 'scape at once from Hope's accursed bands;
To-day thou wilt not see him, nor to-morrow,
And the next day will be a day of sorrow.

***.
She weeps alone for pleasures not to be;
Sorely she wept until the night came on,
And then, instead of love, O misery!
She brooded o'er the luxury alone:
His image in the dusk she seem'd to see,
And to the silence made a gentle moan,
Spreading her perfect arms upon the air,
And on her couch low murmuring, "Where? O where?"

XXXI.
But Selfishness, Love's cousin, held not long
Its fiery vigil in her single breast;
She fretted for the golden hour, and hung
Upon the time with feverish unrest--
Not long--for soon into her heart a throng
Of higher occupants, a richer zest,
Came tragic; passion not to be subdued,
And sorrow for her love in travels rude.

XXXII.
In the mid days of autumn, on their eves
The breath of Winter comes from far away,
And the sick west continually bereaves
Of some gold tinge, and plays a roundelay
Of death among the bushes and the leaves,
To make all bare before he dares to stray
From his north cavern. So sweet Isabel
By gradual decay from beauty fell,

XXXIII.
Because Lorenzo came not. Oftentimes
She ask'd her brothers, with an eye all pale,
Striving to be itself, what dungeon climes
Could keep him off so long? They spake a tale
Time after time, to quiet her. Their crimes
Came on them, like a smoke from Hinnom's vale;
And every night in dreams they groan'd aloud,
To see their sister in her snowy shroud.

XXXIV.
And she had died in drowsy ignorance,
But for a thing more deadly dark than all;
It came like a fierce potion, drunk by chance,
Which saves a sick man from the feather'd pall
For some few gasping moments; like a lance,
Waking an Indian from his cloudy hall
With cruel pierce, and bringing him again
Sense of the gnawing fire at heart and brain.

XXXV.
It was a vision.--In the drowsy gloom,
The dull of midnight, at her couch's foot
Lorenzo stood, and wept: the forest tomb
Had marr'd his glossy hair which once could shoot
Lustre into the sun, and put cold doom
Upon his lips, and taken the soft lute
From his lorn voice, and past his loamed ears
Had made a miry channel for his tears.

XXXVI.
Strange sound it was, when the pale shadow spake;
For there was striving, in its piteous tongue,
To speak as when on earth it was awake,
And Isabella on its music hung:
Languor there was in it, and tremulous shake,
As in a palsied Druid's harp unstrung;
And through it moan'd a ghostly under-song,
Like hoarse night-gusts sepulchral briars among.

XXXVII.
Its eyes, though wild, were still all dewy bright
With love, and kept all phantom fear aloof
From the poor girl by magic of their light,
The while it did unthread the horrid woof
Of the late darken'd time,--the murderous spite
Of pride and avarice,--the dark pine roof
In the forest,--and the sodden turfed dell,
Where, without any word, from stabs he fell.

XXXVIII.
Saying moreover, "Isabel, my sweet!
"Red whortle-berries droop above my head,
"And a large flint-stone weighs upon my feet;
"Around me beeches and high chestnuts shed
"Their leaves and prickly nuts; a sheep-fold bleat
"Comes from beyond the river to my bed:
"Go, shed one tear upon my heather-bloom,
"And it shall comfort me within the tomb.

XXXIX.
"I am a shadow now, alas! alas!
"Upon the skirts of human-nature dwelling
"Alone: I chant alone the holy mass,
"While little sounds of life are round me knelling,
"And glossy bees at noon do fieldward pass,
"And many a chapel bell the hour is telling,
"Paining me through: those sounds grow strange to me,
"And thou art distant in Humanity.

XL.
"I know what was, I feel full well what is,
"And I should rage, if spirits could go mad;
"Though I forget the taste of earthly bliss,
"That paleness warms my grave, as though I had
"A Seraph chosen from the bright abyss
"To be my spouse: thy paleness makes me glad;
"Thy beauty grows upon me, and I feel
"A greater love through all my essence steal."

XLI.
The Spirit mourn'd "Adieu!"--dissolv'd, and left
The atom darkness in a slow turmoil;
As when of healthful midnight sleep bereft,
Thinking on rugged hours and fruitless toil,
We put our eyes into a pillowy cleft,
And see the spangly gloom froth up and boil:
It made sad Isabella's eyelids ache,
And in the dawn she started up awake;

XLII.
"Ha! ha!" said she, "I knew not this hard life,
"I thought the worst was simple misery;
"I thought some Fate with pleasure or with strife
"Portion'd us--happy days, or else to die;
"But there is crime--a brother's ****** knife!
"Sweet Spirit, thou hast school'd my infancy:
"I'll visit thee for this, and kiss thine eyes,
"And greet thee morn and even in the skies."

XLIII.
When the full morning came, she had devised
How she might secret to the forest hie;
How she might find the clay, so dearly prized,
And sing to it one latest lullaby;
How her short absence might be unsurmised,
While she the inmost of the dream would try.
Resolv'd, she took with her an aged nurse,
And went into that dismal forest-hearse.

XLIV.
See, as they creep along the river side,
How she doth whisper to that aged Dame,
And, after looking round the champaign wide,
Shows her a knife.--"What feverous hectic flame
"Burns in thee, child?--What good can thee betide,
"That thou should'st smile again?"--The evening came,
And they had found Lorenzo's earthy bed;
The flint was there, the berries at his head.

XLV.
Who hath not loiter'd in a green church-yard,
And let his spirit, like a demon-mole,
Work through the clayey soil and gravel hard,
To see skull, coffin'd bones, and funeral stole;
Pitying each form that hungry Death hath marr'd,
And filling it once more with human soul?
Ah! this is holiday to what was felt
When Isabella by Lorenzo knelt.

XLVI.
She gaz'd into the fresh-thrown mould, as though
One glance did fully all its secrets tell;
Clearly she saw, as other eyes would know
Pale limbs at bottom of a crystal well;
Upon the murderous spot she seem'd to grow,
Like to a native lily of the dell:
Then with her knife, all sudden, she began
To dig more fervently than misers can.

XLVII.
Soon she turn'd up a soiled glove, whereon
Her silk had play'd in purple phantasies,
She kiss'd it with a lip more chill than stone,
And put it in her *****, where it dries
And freezes utterly unto the bone
Those dainties made to still an infant's cries:
Then 'gan she work again; nor stay'd her care,
But to throw back at times her vei

There are, dear daughter, oceans between us
(At your insistence, though I say this without rancor)
A buffer from the memories of our sad antics,
Pottery reduced to shards, doors slammed in such a manner
That the very jambs ached in regret,
The hinges wept in the weight of their sadness,
Though the human heart, mapped by its own wan geography,
Is immune to such trifles as mere distance.
We have tarried in foul gardens of sophistry,
Engaged in predictable shows of dramatics,
As if our outbursts can be measured in some calculus
Seeking to ascertain our devotion
In the rending of garments, the shrieking collapse upon the floor,
For it has been revealed to me
That the spectacle of our grand lamentations,
Worn by us like the finest silver-threaded garments,
Are no more than the strutting and preening
Of some noisome, foul peacock.
No, we must accept, indeed embrace, the notion
That our love is as imperfect as our selves,
And that we must approach its altar
Not with grandiloquence and haughty pomp,
But meekly, bearing the simple gift our person
Modestly cloaked in the simple black gown of humility.

You’re still a stranger
Though you hurt me once
Once in a nightmare

I have my aim
But I'm scared to death I will miss
I have you now
But will tomorrow hold that certainty
You realized the crap out of me
But you still chose to empty my gun of its bullets
The trigger is yours to pull
But you decided to pull me closer

Haven't they told you to stay away from me?
I guess what you heard was “Save the sinner.”
I was not made for anyone to love but you did
These hands were not made to hold but I learned to grip
To hold on and now I’m letting go

Once I'm gone, will you write about me
Will you write about our almosts
Our firsts and especially our lasts
Maybe if you do, my heart will rest in peace
Knowing I have left fingerprints in between your ribs
Yours are in every bit of my being

How can this world be that cruel
Use all its forces to put something together so perfect
and use up all that is left to claw it all down to grains
I know this because I see them slipping in between my fingers
I will never understand
I thought I understood it
That I could grasp it
But I didn't, not really
These are words I wish that I could etch upon my skin
But unfortunately, I already know
that I would just run out of space

I want to destroy everything we've built
and drown in its ruins
Inhale what is left and keep it inside my chest
My burnt lungs will hold your words
I will look at our mistakes, our undoing
Our slow submersion in everything we hoped we’d see stay
Maybe then I will see something beautiful in death
We lost
We did, right?

Laughing at your sadness
Sweet satisfaction
Knowing you are forever alone
Buried in yourself
Wallow in your self pity
Wrap a flimsy shell to cover
That pathetic creature called you
Sit alone in the dark
And cry
And remember how you told me to go

I’ll wake up 60 years later and write,
I’ll wake up feeling death at its verge,
Tasting joy being bitter and loneliness being sweet.

For those that are "suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune", looking for someone else to blame for what happens to them; GO LOOK in a MIRROR! You'll probably find that person pretty quick.

copyright: Richard Riddle: June 10-2015

My words are stuck again;
my tongues gone almost stiff.
Guess I got hung up again.
Got caught up in the mix.

And there's no one to blame,
the tales always the same.
I'll always think of sunshine when someone says your name.

We both knew it had to end,
we both could see the rust.
I'm only sorry that I left,
before I lost your trust.

And there's no one to blame,
the tales always the same.
I will always see your smile at the end of my hard days.

When I get drunk alone,
I think of how you laughed.
Then I look down at my phone,
and I let the moment pass.

I swear there's no one to blame,
this tales always been the same.
I still hear your voice amid the murmur or the rain.

Questions asked.
Never answered.
Shut down...
Common sense;
Sheds light.

Soy sabio, soy ateo;
no creo en diablo ni en Dios...
(...pero, si me estoy muriendo,
que traigan el confesor).

Oyes en medio del otoño
detonaciones amarillas?

Por qué razón o sinrazón
llora la lluvia su alegría?

Qué pájaros dictan el orden
de la bandada cuando vuela?

De qué suspende el picaflor
su simetría deslumbrante?

Yo me he asomado a las profundas simas
      de la tierra y del cielo,
y les he visto el fin o con los ojos
      o con el pensamiento.   Mas ¡ay!, de un corazón llegué al abismo
      y me incliné un momento,
y mi alma y mis ojos se turbaron:
      ¡Tan hondo era y tan *****!

Sometimes,
when you pour shaken up soda too quickly,
the foam grows,
goes up and up,
and you’re left staring at the glass
in hopes that it doesn’t fizz over,
only to stop right when it reaches the brim.

There’s times he feels like that,
like there’s something building up in his chest
and at the very tips of his fingers, threatening to make a mess and spill over.

But then the buzz dies down,
him emptying the glass
with a light chest and steady hands.

Until,
with time,
it happens all over again,
like an itch he can never scratch away.

He takes and takes,
keeps it all in
and never says a word.

He's afraid one day
the foam will grow one inch too many,
and the glass will overflow.

For now,
he lets the foam be,
and dreams of the day his glass doesn't fizz over
'cause he took a sip
before it was too late.

Detrás de mí en la rama quiero verte.
Poco a poco te convertiste en fruto.
No te costó subir de las raíces
cantando con tu sílaba de savia.

Y aquí estarás primero en flor fragante,
en la estatua de un beso convertida,
hasta que sol y tierra, sangre y cielo,
te otorguen la delicia y la dulzura.

En la rama veré tu cabellera,
tu signo madurando en el follaje,
acercando las hojas a mi sed,

y llenará mi boca tu sustancia,
el beso que subió desde la tierra
con tu sangre de fruta enamorada.

Emily Dickinson (1830–86).  Complete Poems.  1924.

Part Three: Love

XLVII

HEART, we will forget him!
  You and I, to-night!
You may forget the warmth he gave,
  I will forget the light.
  
When you have done, pray tell me,         
  That I my thoughts may dim;
Haste! lest while you’re lagging,
  I may remember him!

Whilom, sate taunted tortoise b' brook;
hoist'd hunger 'n haughty hoofs trod th' nooks
smothered stomach wrought foiled furrow -
sumptuous severity 'n grace glowed.

Thereupon eerie eyes espied;
bounty bowl ñ tide with salient sigh.
Apt acumen whispered t' him th' draw;
rustic rage rent b' pored passion's call.

Sewn strife b' haughty hurls was sore licked,
'n' wished h' th' tumbling tide would t' th' bowl spit,
but moist mirage choked worn wishes,
'til quethe sassy stream's ***** lips.

Anon, grew grousing nymph from waves,
wh' for bounty bowl (bruised brunch) had came.
        '20:07:16:14:51

Oh about time, I want to live forever!