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Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose! That Youths sweet-scented Manuscript should close!

Omar Khayyam

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Omar Khayyam
Age: 83 †
Born: 1048
Born: May 15
Died: 1131
Died: December 4
Astrologer
Astronomer
Lyricist
Mathematician
Musician
Philosopher
Physicist
Poet
Writer
Neyshabur
Omar Khayyam
Hakim Omar Khayyám
Vanish
Alas
Rose
Spring
Close
Scented
Youth
Youths
Sweet
Manuscript
Manuscripts

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The Stars are setting and the Caravan Starts for the Dawn of Nothing-Oh, make haste!
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Here's to the man Who owns the land That bears the grapes That makes the wine That tastes as good As this does.
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Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go, Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!
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He who has one enemy shall meet him everywhere.
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You know, my friends, with what a brave carouse I made a Second Marriage in my house favored old barren reason from my bed, and took the daughter of the vine to spouse.
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Why ponder thus the future to foresee, and jade thy brain to vain perplexity? Cast off thy care, leave Allah’s plans to him – He formed them all without consulting thee.
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How sad, a heart that does not know how to love, that does not know what it is to be drunk with love. If you are not in love, how can you enjoy the blinding light of the sun, the soft light of the moon?
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It’s too bad if a heart lacks fire, and is deprived of the light of a heart ablaze. The day on which you are without passionate love is the most wasted day of your life.
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Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie, Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and-sans End!
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Oh, the brave Music of a distant drum!
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I can’t reveal the mystery to either saint or sinner I can’t state at length what I’ve said curtly I achieve an altered state that I can’t explain I have a secret that I cannot share.
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You know how little while we have to stay, And, once departed, may return no more.
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Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life.
Omar Khayyam
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To-day is thine to spend, but not to-morrow Counting on morrows breedeth bankrupt sorrow: O squander not this breath that Heaven hath lent thee Make not too sure another breath to borrow.
Omar Khayyam
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For in and out, above, about, below, 'Tis nothing but a Magic Shadow-show, Played in a Box whose Candle is the Sun, Round which we Phantom Figures come and go.
Omar Khayyam
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This body is a tent which for a space Does the pure soul with kingly presence grace When he departs, comes the tent-pitcher, Death, Strikes it, and moves to a new halting-place.
Omar Khayyam
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Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd Of the Two Worlds so wisely - they are thrust Like foolish Prophets forth their Words to Scorn Are scattered, and their mouths are stopped with Dust.
Omar Khayyam
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Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry.
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In monasteries, seminaries, retreats and synagogues, they fear hell and seek paradise. Those who know the mysteries of God never let that seed be planted in their souls.
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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.
Omar Khayyam