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edward fitzgerald: from 'rhubaiyat of omar khayyam' - v. c. clinton-baddeley كلمات أغنية

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

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

indeed the idols i have lov’d 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

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

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

alas, that spring should vanish with the rose!
that youth’s sweet_scented m_n_script should close!
the nightingale that in the branches sang
ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows!
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!

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!

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!

- edward fitzgerald from rhubaiyat of omar khayyam

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