Whether at Naishapur or Babylon, Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run, The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop, The Leaves of Life keep fallin… - Omar Khayyám

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.

I see a horseman disappearing into
the evening mist. Will he travel through woods
or across wild plains? Where is he heading? I don't know.
Tomorrow, will I be stretched out above or
below the earth? I don't know.

A Moment's Halt — a momentary taste Of Being from the Well amid the Waste — And Lo! — the phantom Caravan has reach'd The Nothing it set out from — Oh, make haste!