Our life is as short as a raging fire: flames the passer-by soon forgets, ashes the wind blows away. A man's life. - Omar Khayyám

Ah, Love! could you and I with Him 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!

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 sadness, my loved-one!

Old Khayyám, say you, is a debauchee;
If only you were half so good as he!
He sins no sins but gentle drunkenness,
Great-hearted mirth, and kind adultery.

But yours the cold heart, and the murderous tongue,
The wintry soul that hates to hear a song,
The close-shut fist, the mean and measuring eye,
And all the little poisoned ways of wrong.