Yet Ah, 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! CV Would but the Desert of the Fountain yield One glimpse--if dimly, yet indeed reveal'd, Toward which the fainting Traveller might spring, As springs the trampled herbage of the field! CVI Oh, if the World were but to re-create, That we might catch ere closed the Book of Fate, And make The Writer on a fairer leaf Inscribe our names, or quite obliterate! CVII Better, oh, better, cancel from the Scroll Of Universe one luckless Human Soul, Than drop by drop enlarge the Flood that rolls Hoarser with Anguish as the Ages Roll. CVIII Ah, Love! could you 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! [Illustration: QUATRAIN LXXII p. 116 [_Second Edition of the Translation_] 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 emerged from, shall so soon expire.] [Illustration: QUATRAIN XIV p. 145 [_Fifth Edition of the Translation_] Look to the blowing Rose 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."] CIX But see! The rising Moon of Heav'n again-- Looks for us, Sweet-heart, through the quivering Plane: How oft hereafter rising will she look Among those leaves--for one of us in vain! CX And when Yourself with silver Foot 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! TAMÁM [Illustration: RUBÁIYÁT·OF·OMAR·KHAYYÁM] THE FIFTH EDITION OF THE TRANSLATION I 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 Sultán's Turret with a Shaft of Light. II 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?" III 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." 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