I hide my distress, just like the blessed birds hide themselves when they are preparing to die. Wine! Wine, roses, music and your indifference to my … - Omar Khayyám

I hide my grief, just like the blessed birds hide themselves when they are preparing to die, my love.

Allah, perchance, the secret word might spell; If Allah be, He keeps His secret well; What He hath hidden, who shall hope to find? Shall God His secret to a maggot tell? … The Koran! well, come put me to the test— Lovely old book in hideous error drest— Believe me, I can quote the Koran too, The unbeliever knows his Koran best. And do you think that unto such as you, A maggot-minded, starved, fanatic crew, God gave the secret, and denied it me?— Well, well, what matters it! believe that too.

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.

After a momentary silence spake Some Vessel of a more ungainly Make; "They sneer at me for leaning all awry: What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?"