#EnglishWriters
71 The Moving Finger writes, and, ha… Moves on; nor all your Piety nor… Shall lure it back to cancel half… Nor all your Tears wash out a Wor…
13 Some for the Glories of This Wor… Sigh for the Prophet’s Paradise t… Ah, take the Cash, and let the Cr… Nor heed the rumble of a distant…
12 A Book of Verses underneath the… A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread—a… Beside me singing in the Wilderne… Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow…
10 Well, let it take them! What have… With Kaikobad the Great, or Kaik… Let Zal and Rustum bluster as the… Or Hatim call to Supper—heed not…
9 Each Morn a thousand Roses brings… Yes, but where leaves the Rose of… And this first Summer month that… Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad a…
Before the phantom of False morni… Methought a Voice within the Tave… “When all the Temple is prepared… Why nods the drowsy Worshiper out…
And, as the Cock crew, those who… The Tavern shouted—“Open, then, t… You know how little while we have… And, once departed, may return no…
A dream it was in which I found m… And you that hail me now, then hai… In a brave palace that was all my… Within, and all without it, mine;… Drunk with excess of majesty and p…
11 With me along the strip of Herbag… That just divides the desert from… Where name of Slave and Sultan is… And Peace to Mahmud on his golden…
76 The Vine had struck a fibre: whic… If clings my Being—let the Dervis… Of my Base metal may be filed a K… That shall unlock the Door he how…
TIS a dull sight To see the year dying, When winter winds Set the yellow wood sighing: Sighing, O sighing!
15 And those who husbanded the Golde… And those who flung it to the wind… Alike to no such aureate Earth ar… As, buried once, Men want dug up…
7 Come, fill the Cup, and in the fi… Your Winter—garment of Repentance… The Bird of Time has but a little… To flutter—and the Bird is on the…
Wake! For the Sun, who scattered… The Stars before him from the Fie… Drives Night along with them from… The Sultán’s Turret with a Shaft…
6 And David’s lips are lockt; but i… High—piping Pehlevi, with “Wine!… Red Wine!”—the Nightingale cries… That sallow cheek of hers t’ incar…