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.

The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon Turn Ashes – or its prospers; and anon, Like Snow upon the Desert’s dusty Face Lighting a little Hour or two – is gone.

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.”

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.

With me along some Strip of Herbage strown That just divides the desert from the sown, Where name of Slave and Sultan scarce is known, And pity Sultan Mahmud on his Throne.

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 the not.