Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám
I
AWAKE! for Morning in the Bowl of Night
Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight:
And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught
The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light.
II
Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the Sky
I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry,
"Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup
Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry."
III
And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before
The Tavern shouted—"Open then the Door!
You know how little while we have to stay,
And, once departed, may return no more."
IV
Now the New Year reviving old Desires,
The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,
Where the WHITE HAND OF MOSES on the Bough
Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.
V
Irám indeed is gone with all its Rose,
And Jamsh{'y}d's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;
But still the Vine her ancient Ruby yields,
And still a Garden by the Water blows.
VI
And David's Lips are lock't; but in divine
High piping Pehleví, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!
Red Wine!"—the Nightingale cries to the Rose
That yellow Cheek of hers to' incarnadine.
VII
Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To fly—and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.
VIII
And look—a thousand Blossoms with the Day
Woke—and a thousand scatter'd into Clay:
And this first Summer Month that brings the Rose
Shall take Jamsh{'y}d and Kaikobád away.
IX
But come with old Khayyám, and leave the Lot
Of Kaikobád and Kaikhosrú forgot:
Let Rustum lay about him as he will,
Or Hátim Tai cry Supper—heed them not.
X
With me along some Strip of Herbage strown
That just divides the desert from the sown,
Where name of Slave and Sultán scarce is known,
And pity Sultán Mahmúd on his Throne.
XI
Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse—and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness—
And Wilderness is Paradise enow.
XII
"How sweet is mortal Sovranty!"—think some:
Others—"How blest the Paradise to come!"
Ah, take the Cash in hand and wave the Rest;
Oh, the brave Music of a distant Drum!
XIII
Look to the Rose that blows about us—"Lo,
Laughing," she says, "into the World I blow:
At once the silken Tassel of my Purse
Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."
XIV
The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon
Turns Ashes—or it prospers; and anon,
Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face
Lighting a little Hour or two—is gone.
XV
And those who husbanded the Golden Grain,
And those who flung it to the Winds like Rain,
Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn'd
As, buried once, Men want dug up again.
XVI
Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai
Whose Doorways are alternate Night and Day,
How Sultán after Sultán with his Pomp
Abode his Hour or two, and went his way.
XVII
They say the Lion and the Lizard keep
The Courts where Jamsh{'y}d gloried and drank deep:
And Bahrám, that great Hunter—the Wild Ass
Stamps o'er his Head, and he lies fast asleep.
XVIII
I sometimes think that never blows so red
The Rose as where some buried Cæsar bled;
That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head.
XIX
And this delightful Herb whose tender Green
Fledges the River's Lip on which we lean—
Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows
From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!
XX
Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears
TO-DAY of past Regrets and future Fears—
To-morrow?—Why, To-morrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years.
XXI
Lo! some we lov'd, the loveliest and best
That Time and Fate of all their Vintage prest,
Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,
And one by one crept silently to Rest.
XXII
And we, that now make merry in the Room
They left, and Summer dresses in new Bloom,
Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth
Descend, ourselves to make a Couch—for whom?
XXIII
Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
Before we too into the Dust descend;
Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie,
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and—sans End!
XXIV
Alike for those who for TO-DAY prepare,
And those that after a TO-MORROW stare,
A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries
"Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There!"
XXV
Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd
Of the Two Worlds so learnedly are thrust
Like foolish Prophets forth; their Words to Scorn
Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.
XXVI
Oh, come with old Khayyám, and leave the Wise
To talk; one thing is certain, that Life flies;
One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies;
The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.
XXVII
Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Doctor and Saint, and heard great Argument
About it and about: but evermore
Came out by the same Door as in I went.
XXVIII
With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow,
And with my own hand labour'd it to grow:
And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd—
"I came like Water, and like Wind I go."
XXIX
Into this Universe, and why not knowing,
Nor whence like Water willy-nilly flowing:
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
I know not whither willy-nilly blowing.
XXX
What, without asking, hither hurried whence?
And, without asking, whither hurried hence!
Another and another Cup to drown
The Memory of this Impertinence!
XXXI
Up from Earth's Centre through the Seventh Gate
I rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate,
And many Knots unravel'd by the Road;
But not the Knot of Human Death and Fate.
XXXII
There was a Door to which I found no Key:
There was a Veil past which I could not see:
Some little Talk awhile of ME and THEE
There seem'd—and then no more of THEE and ME.
XXXIII
Then to the rolling Heav'n itself I cried,
Asking, "What Lamp had Destiny to guide
Her little Children stumbling in the Dark?"
And—"A blind Understanding!" Heav'n replied.
XXXIV
Then to this earthen Bowl did I adjourn
My Lip the secret Well of Life to learn:
And Lip to Lip it murmur'd—"While you live
Drink!—for once dead you never shall return."
XXXV
I think the Vessel, that with fugitive
Articulation answer'd, once did live,
And merry-make; and the cold Lip I kiss'd
How many Kisses might it take—and give!
XXXVI
For in the Market-place, one Dusk of Day,
I watch'd the Potter thumping his wet Clay:
And with its all obliterated Tongue
It murmur'd—"Gently, Brother, gently, pray!"
XXXVII
Ah, fill the Cup:—what boots it to repeat
How Time is slipping underneath our Feet:
Unborn TO-MORROW, and dead YESTERDAY,
Why fret about them if TO-DAY be sweet!
XXXVIII
One Moment in Annihilation's Waste,
One Moment, of the Well of Life to taste—
The Stars are setting and the Caravan
Starts for the Dawn of Nothing—Oh, make haste!
XXXIX
How long, how long, in infinite Pursuit
Of This and That endeavour and dispute?
Better be merry with the fruitful Grape
Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.
XL
You know, my Friends, how long since in my House
For a new Marriage I did make Carouse:
Divorc'd old barren Reason from my Bed,
And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse.
XLI
For "Is" and "IS-NOT" though with Rule and Line,
And "UP-AND-DOWN" without I could define,
I yet in all I only cared to know,
Was never deep in anything but—Wine.
XLII
And lately, by the Tavern Door agape,
Came stealing through the Dusk an Angel Shape
Bearing a Vessel on his Shoulder; and
He bid me taste of it; and 'twas—the Grape!
XLIII
The Grape that can with Logic absolute
The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute:
The subtle Alchemist that in a Trice
Life's leaden Metal into Gold transmute:
XLIV
The mighty Mahmúd, the victorious Lord,
That all the misbelieving and black Horde
Of Fears and Sorrows that infest the Soul
Scatters and slays with his enchanted Sword.
XLV
But leave the Wise to wrangle, and with me
The Quarrel of the Universe let be:
And, in some corner of the Hubbub coucht,
Make Game of that which makes as much of Thee.
XLVI
For in and out, above, about, below,
'Tis nothing but a Magic Shadow-show,
Play'd in a Box whose Candle is the Sun,
Round which we Phantom Figures come and go.
XLVII
And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press,
End in the Nothing all Things end in—Yes—
Then fancy while Thou art, Thou art but what
Thou shalt be—Nothing—Thou shalt not be less.
XLVIII
While the Rose blows along the River Brink,
With old Khayyám the Ruby Vintage drink:
And when the Angel with his darker Draught
Draws up to Thee—take that, and do not shrink.
XLIX
'Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days
Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays:
Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays,
And one by one back in the Closet lays.
L
The Ball no Question makes of Ayes and Noes,
But Right or Left as strikes the Player goes;
And He that toss'd Thee down into the Field,
He knows about it all—HE knows—HE knows!
LI
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.
LII
And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky,
Whereunder crawling coop't we live and die,
Lift not thy hands to It for help—for It
Rolls impotently on as Thou or I.
LIII
With Earth's first Clay They did the Last Man's knead,
And then of the Last Harvest sow'd the Seed:
Yea, the first Morning of Creation wrote
What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.
LIV
I tell Thee this—When, starting from the Goal,
Over the shoulders of the flaming Foal
Of Heav'n Parwín and Mushtara they flung,
In my predestin'd Plot of Dust and Soul
LV
The Vine had struck a Fibre; which about
If clings my Being—let the Súfi flout;
Of my Base Metal may be fil'd a Key
That shall unlock the Door he howls without.
LVI
And this I know: whether the one True Light
Kindle to Love, or Wrath consume me quite,
One Glimpse of It within the Tavern caught
Better than in the Temple lost outright.
LVII
Oh Thou, who didst with Pitfall and with Gin
Beset the Road I was to wander in,
Thou wilt not with Predestination round
Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin?
LVIII
Oh, Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make,
And who with Eden didst devise the Snake;
For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man
Is blacken'd, Man's Forgiveness give—and take!
KÚZA-NÁMALIX
Listen again. One Evening at the Close
Of Ramazán, ere the better Moon arose,
In that old Potter's Shop I stood alone
With the clay Population round in Rows.
LX
And, strange to tell, among that Earthen Lot
Some could articulate, while others not:
And suddenly one more impatient cried—
"Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?"
LXI
Then said another—"Surely not in vain
My Substance from the common Earth was ta'en,
That He who subtly wrought me into Shape
Should stamp me back to common Earth again."
LXII
Another said—"Why, ne'er a peevish Boy
Would break the Bowl from which he drank in Joy;
Shall He that made the Vessel in pure Love
And Fancy, in an after Rage destroy!"
LXIII
None answer'd this; but after Silence spake
A Vessel of a more ungainly Make:
"They sneer at me for leaning all awry;
What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?"
LXIV
Said one—"Folks of a surly Tapster tell,
And daub his Visage with the Smoke of Hell;
They talk of some strict Testing of us—Pish!
He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well."
LXV
Then said another with a long-drawn Sigh,
"My Clay with long oblivion is gone dry:
But, fill me with the old familiar Juice,
Methinks I might recover by-and-bye!"
LXVI
So while the Vessels one by one were speaking,
One spied the little Crescent all were seeking:
And then they jogg'd each other, "Brother! Brother!
Hark to the Porter's Shoulder-knot a-creaking!"
LXVII
Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide,
And wash my Body whence the Life has died,
And in a Windingsheet of Vine-leaf wrapt,
So bury me by some sweet Garden-side.
LXVIII
That ev'n my buried Ashes such a Snare
Of Perfume shall fling up into the Air,
As not a True Believer passing by
But shall be overtaken unaware.
LXIX
Indeed the Idols I have lov'd so long
Have done my Credit in Men's Eye much wrong:
Have drown'd my Honour in a shallow Cup,
And sold my Reputation for a Song.
LXX
Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before
I swore—but was I sober when I swore?
And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand
My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore.
LXXI
And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel,
And robb'd me of my Robe of Honour—well
I often wonder what the Vintners buy
One half so precious as the Goods they sell.
LXXII
Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!
That Youth's sweet-scented Manuscript should close!
The Nightingale that in the Branches sang,
Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows!
LXXIII
Ah Love! could thou and I with Fate 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!
LXXIV
Ah, Moon of my Delight who know'st no wane,
The Moon of Heav'n is rising once again:
How oft hereafter rising shall she look
Through this same Garden after me in vain!
LXXV
And when Thyself with shining Foot shall pass
Among the Guests Star-scatter'd on the Grass
And in thy joyous Errand reach the Spot
Where I made one—turn down an empty Glass!TAMÁM SHUD
NOTESForm: aaba1.Omar Khayyá;m, Persian astronomer, mathematician, philosopher and poet, lived at Naishá;pú;r in Khorassá;n in the second half of the eleventh and the first quarter of the twelfth century A.D. The traditional Persian stanza he employed, the rubá;i, consisted of two verses of varied prosody divided into hemistichs, with the first, second and fourth hemistichs rhyming--and occasionally the third as well. FitzGerald's stanza, a pentameter quatrain with aaba rhyme, is similar in form to Omar's although less varied in its rhythm. In the Persian original each rubá;i is an independent composition, its thought condensed and polished to the form of epigram. Collections of rubá;iyá;t were made, not by grouping together stanzas similar in subject matter, but by arranging the independent units in an alphabetic sequence. The result is, as FitzGerald said, "a strange farrago of grave and gay," with recurring motifs but without essential unity or progression of theme or mood. Studying some six hundred rubá;iyá;t in the two Omar manuscripts available to him, FitzGerald saw that by selection and arrangement "a very pretty eclogue might be tesselated out of his scattered fragments." The controlling design was outlined by FitzGerald in a letter to his publisher: "[The poet] begins with dawn pretty sober and contemplative; then as he thinks and drinks, grows savage, blasphemous, etc., and then again sobers down into melancholy at nightfall." FitzGerald recognized that his plan altered somewhat the balance of moods in Omar, allowing "a less than equal proportion of the 'Drink and make merry,' which (genuine or not) recurs over-frequently in the original." Since Omar's own day there have been recurrent attempts to interpret in a mystical sense the poet's glorification of wine and the joys of the moment. FitzGerald viewed the rubá;iyá;t more literally: "... his worldly pleasures are what they profess to be without any pretence at divine allegory: his wine is the veritable juice of the grape: his tavern, where it was to be had: his Saki, the flesh and blood that poured it out for him: all which, and where the roses were in bloom, was all he profess'd to want of this world or to expect of paradise." As translator, FitzGerald was concerned not with literal accuracy but with securing a forceful and lively equivalent: "Better a live sparrow than a stuffed eagle." As Persian scholar, he was a dedicated and careful amateur. When he encountered difficulties in interpreting Omar, he consulted his friend and unofficial tutor, E. B. Cowell who later became a distinguished Sanskrit scholar but who, in the 1850's, was rather a keen and gifted student of Oriental languages than an authoritative guide. The first edition of FitzGerald's Rubá;iyá;t of Omar Khayyá;m appeared anonymously in March 1859. The poem underwent extensive revision for successive editions in 1868 (with 110 quatrains), 1872 (101 quatrains), and 1879. FitzGerald's publisher, Bernard Quaritch, had named him as Omar's translator in a book catalogue in the autumn of 1868, but that mention went unnoticed and FitzGerald was not formally recognized as the author of the Rubá;iyá;t until March 1876, in an article in the Contemporary Review. The text printed here is that of the first edition. Textual notes in quotation marks are FitzGerald's notes from that edition. The best recent edition of the 1859 version is A. J. Arberry's The Romance of the Rubá;iyá;t, London, 1959. 1-4.Comparison of a literal translation of the Persian original of these lines with FitzGerald's successive versions will exemplify his method of translation and recension: Literal: The sun has thrown the lassoo of dawn over the roof; the emperor of day hasthrown the stone into the cup.1859: Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of NightHas flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight: And Lo ! the Hunter of the East has caughtThe Sultá;n's Turret in a Noose of Light. 1868: Wake! For the Sun behind yon Eastern heightHas chased the Session of the Stars from Night; And, to the field of Heav'n ascending, strikesThe Sultá;n's Turret with a Shaft of Light. 1872-79: Wake! For the Sun who scatter'd into flightThe Stars before him from the Field of NightDrives Night along with them from Heav'n, and strikesThe Sultá;n's Turret with a Shaft of Light. 2."Flinging a stone into the cup was the signal for 'To horse!' in the desert." 5 . Dawn's left hand: "the 'false dawn;' ... a transient light on the horizon about an hour before the ... true dawn; a well-known phenomenon in the East." 13. New Year. The Persian year began with the vernal equinox. 15. the White Hand of Moses: an allusion to the sudden appearance of clusters of white blossoms on flowering trees in the spring. FitzGerald cites Exodus 4:6, "where Moses draws forth his hand--not, according to the Persians, 'leprous as snow',--but white as our May-blossom in spring perhaps." 16. suspires: breathes. According to Moslem belief the breath of Christ is a continuously vivifying force, keeping the world alive. The poet alludes here to the earth's renewed vitality in spring. 17. Iram: a legendary garden city, "now sunk somewhere in the sands of Arabia." 18. Jamsh{'y}d: monarch of the mythical Pishdadian dynasty--oldest dynasty of Persian legend. "King Splendid" of a golden age, Jamsh{'y}d is credited, in his seven-hundred-year-long reign with the building of Persepolis, the invention of most of the arts of civilization, and the discovery of the benefits of wine. In later Islamic legend he is identified with both King Solomon and Alexander the Great.Sev'n-ring'd Cup: a magic cup, famous in Persian legend, in which all the activities of the world could be seen. Seven, of course, is a mystic number; FitzGerald comments: "typical of the seven heavens, seven planets, seven seas, etc." 21. David. In Persian poetry David appears as sweet singer and lutanist. FitzGerald probably intends to add the connotation of the sacred singer whose lips are now silent, whereas the nightingale, celebrating the joys of the fleeting present, sings on. 22. Pehleví;. In a strict sense, Pahlavi is Middle Persian, the language from about the third to the seventh centuries. In Persian literature, however, Pahlavi is not so much a chronological term as a richly connotative one, gathering up memories of pre-Islamic Persian greatness. 34. Kaikobá;d and Kaikhosrú;: legendary kings of ancient Persia, members of the Kaianid dynasty, celebrated in Firdausí;'s Shá;h-ná;ma. Their names are evocative of past splendour and heroic action. 35.Rustum: the Hercules of Persian legend, champion for centuries of the Kaianid monarchs. Rustum is known to English readers through Matthew Arnold's Sohrab and Rustum. 36. Há;tim Tai: an Arab who beggared himself by his excessive bounty. He became, in Oriental literature, a type of lavish generosity. 40. Sultá;n Mahmú;d: Mahmú;d of Ghazna, eleventh-century ruler of part of eastern Persia and a large area of Afghanistan, and conqueror of northern India. His celebrated devotion to his slave boy, Ayá;z, may be alluded to in line 39. 57. Golden Grain: money. 60. The burial of treasure, an economic necessity to preserve it from theft, is a recurring theme in Persian poetry. 61. Caravanserai: an inn providing shelter for caravans; here it is an image for the world. 66. Courts: Persepolis, called the "Throne of Jamshyd" because tradition named him as its founder. 67. Bahrá;m: a Persian sovereign of the Sassanid dynasty (ca. 421-38), called Bahrá;m Gú;r--Bahrá;m of the Wild Ass--for his strength and skill, and his prowess in the hunt. 80. Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years: FitzGerald comments cryptically: "a thousand years to each planet." The Persian may be literally translated: "We shall be level with those of seven thousand years ago." 95.Muezzin: a public crier who proclaims the hour of prayer from the minaret of a mosque. 101-2. In the second and subsequent editions these lines were altered to read: "Oh threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise!/One thing at least is certain--This Life flies." 117-20. The Persian original of this quatrain much milder: "Since neither my entrance into the world nor my departure from it depend upon my own design, rise up, O nimble cup-bearer, for I will wash down the grief of the world with wine" (Ougley MS., 21). 121-22. Omar claims he has pursued knowledge to its farthest human limit. According to the Ptolemaic system the sphere of Saturn was the outermost of the seven concentric planetary spheres surrounding the earth. 127. Me and Thee: "that is, some dividual existence or personality apart from the whole." 129-32. The final version of this stanza reads:Then of the THEE IN ME who works behindThe Veil, I lifted up my hands to findA Lamp amid the Darkness; and I heard As from Without-- THE ME WITHIN THEE BLIND" 137-44. Omar frequently ponders the irony of human dust become potter's clay. 161-62.FitzGerald comments: "A jest, of course, at his studies" (note from second edition). Omar was bothphilosopher and mathematician. 166. Angel Shape. FitzGerald's misreading of pí;rí; (old man) as pirí; (fairy) has radically altered the spirit of the Persian original of the quatrain. 170. the Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects: "The seventy-two sects into which Islamism so soon split." This note from the first edition is a more accurate rendering of Mohammedan tradition than the revised note of the second and later editions, which reads: "The seventy-two religions supposed to divide the world, including Islamism, as some think: but others not." 173.Mahmú;d: see the note at line 40, introduced as metaphor to express the power of wine to dispel sorrow. 174. misbelieving and black Horde. "This alludes to Mahmú;d's conquest of India and its swarthy idolaters." In later editions FitzGerald made an interesting change in wording from "swarthy idolaters," a term which accurately expressed the traditional Persian view of Indians, to the less invidious "dark people." 182. Magic Shadow-Show: a magic lantern used all through the middle East, in some places even up to the present time, "the cylindrical interior being painted with various figures, and so lightly poised and ventilated as to revolve round the candle lighted within." 189-92.In its third and final version this stanza reads: So when the Angel of the darker DrinkAt last shall find you by the river-brink,And, offering his Cup, invite your SoulForth to your Lips to quaff--you shall not shrink.195. mates: checkmates. 213.starting from the Goal: continues the concept introduced in stanza LIII: goal and starting point are one in the cycle of existence. 214. flaming Foal Of Heav'n: a common metaphor for the sun in Persian literature. 215. Parwí;n and Mushtara: the Pleiades and Jupiter. 218. Sú;fi: Moslem mystic and ascetic. The name early became associated with extravagant observances and a sense of election. 225. Gin: snare. 227. Predestination: in the second and subsequent editions this word was altered to read "Predestin'dEvil." 231-32. These two lines were based on FitzGerald's misconception of a perfectly orthodox passage in Omar (Calcutta MS., 292): "O Lord, grant me repentance and accept my excuse, You who grant repentance and accept the excuse of every man." E. B. Cowell pointed out to FitzGerald his misinterpretation of Omar's lines, but FitzGerald chose to retain what he had written, believing it consistent with Omar's general spirit. 232. KÚ;ZANAMA: "Book of Pots"; the sub-heading was removed in later editions. FitzGerald notes in the third edition: "This relation of Pot and Potter to Man and his Maker figures far and wide in the literature of the world, from the time of the Hebrew prophets to the present." In FitzGerald's own day Browning made notable use of the metaphor in "Rabbi Ben Ezra," possibly in reply to FitzGerald's Omar. 234. Ramazá;n: in Islam a month of strict fasting.better Moon: the new moon heralding the end of Ramazá;n and ushering in the month of Shawwá;l with a three-day long festival. 253-56.In its final version this stanza reads:`Why,' said another, `Some there are who tellOf one who threatens he will toss to HellThe luckless Pots he marr'd in making--Pish! He's a Good Fellow, and 't will all be well."262. little Crescent: the "better Moon" of line 234. 264. the Porter's shoulder-knot: a device for carrying his wares--jars of wine to celebrate the end of Ramazá;n. 289. In the third and fourth editions this line became: "Ah, Love! could you and I with Him conspire." 297. Thyself: the "Moon of my Delight" of line 293, the Sá;kí; who pours his wine.TAMÁ\;M SHUD: The End.
