Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám, the astronomer-poet of Persia; . s*^ v M Glose upon a Rubaiy (By Porter Garnett) A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread —and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness —Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow! Oft have the footsteps of my Soul been led By Thee, sweet Omar, far from hum of toilTo where the Chenar trees their plumage spread And tangly vines of wild-grape thickest coil;Where distant fields, scarce glimpst in nooncontent, Are lush with verdure quick upon the plough;Where trill of Nightingale beneath the TentOf heaven sinks away to so
Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám, the astronomer-poet of Persia; . s*^ v M Glose upon a Rubaiy (By Porter Garnett) A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread —and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness —Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow! Oft have the footsteps of my Soul been led By Thee, sweet Omar, far from hum of toilTo where the Chenar trees their plumage spread And tangly vines of wild-grape thickest coil;Where distant fields, scarce glimpst in nooncontent, Are lush with verdure quick upon the plough;Where trill of Nightingale beneath the TentOf heaven sinks away to soft lament; — There have I sat with Thee and conned ere A Book of Verses underneath the Bough. When from the citys raucous din new-freedI quaff thy wisdom from the clearing Cup Of Rubaiyat, then, even as I read, I seem with Thee, in Persian groves to sup On bread of Yezdakhast and Shiraz WineThat lifts the net of Care from off the brow. These words, that tongue the Spirit of the Vine, Break from the Veil, and lo ! the Voice is thine: D. k Glose upon a Rubaiy Then is my wish — would Fate that wish allow !A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread—and Thou. Although I tread the Wilderness of life,Thy song can waft me to that careless clime, Where enter in nor memories of strife, Nor ghosts of woe from out the Gulf of Time. There, by thy side, great Omar, would I stray,And drink the Juice that has forgot the Press, (A Pot, the Potter shaped but Yesterday — To-morrow will it be but broken Clay?)With only Thee the toilsome road to bless,Beside me singing in the Wilderness. When Thou dost scorn the waste and mournthe Rose, That dies upon the worlds too sinful breast,In thy disdain a wondrous beauty glows, Unfolding visions of a Life more from thy Naishapur in Khorasan I seem to wander, though I know not how,Within the glittering gates of Jennistan,Supreme Shadukiam I wondering scan : Though still I walk the Wilderness, I vow — Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow ! <0
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