 | The Poems of A. C. Benson |  |
57
OMAR KHAYYAM
Out of the tombs, across the centuries
The chill voice called and answered, “Yea, I knew!
I prayed the prayers that bring no peace to you,
I paid the same sad price for growing wise;
The chill voice called and answered, “Yea, I knew!
I prayed the prayers that bring no peace to you,
I paid the same sad price for growing wise;
I knew the sick despairs that vex you still,
The same dumb night, the old unwavering stars,
The same wild lust that in a moment mars
The patient barriers of the labouring will.
The same dumb night, the old unwavering stars,
The same wild lust that in a moment mars
The patient barriers of the labouring will.
And this was mine, to inweave the tender dream
With shame and pain, and all that hope ignores;
To catch the whispers of Eternity;
To gaze beyond the whirlpool, see the stream,
The steady stream, that sets to desert shores
Far off, and those dim continents to be.”
With shame and pain, and all that hope ignores;
To catch the whispers of Eternity;
To gaze beyond the whirlpool, see the stream,
The steady stream, that sets to desert shores
Far off, and those dim continents to be.”
| The Poems of A. C. Benson | |