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35
At the Omar Khayyám Club
I
Lo! Sun and Summer to the South have fled,
Yet here are flowers, the White Rose and the Red!
Haste, then, for who can clip the Wings of Time?
And crown the Wine-Cup, as the Master said!
Yet here are flowers, the White Rose and the Red!
Haste, then, for who can clip the Wings of Time?
And crown the Wine-Cup, as the Master said!
What crowns the Cup of Man's Desire who knows?
One saith “On Wealth and Leisure to repose”;
One with the cowled Assisan fain would teach
“Toil is Life's Wine, and Poverty the Rose.”
One saith “On Wealth and Leisure to repose”;
One with the cowled Assisan fain would teach
“Toil is Life's Wine, and Poverty the Rose.”
“Nay,” quoth another, “What wild talk is this
Here in a World where some would kill, some kiss,
Some scour the Earth, some sail the windy Sky,
And all to play at Hoodman-blind with Bliss
Here in a World where some would kill, some kiss,
Some scour the Earth, some sail the windy Sky,
And all to play at Hoodman-blind with Bliss
Who still outwits them, Fool alike and Wise?
Say rather ‘Vanity of Vanities!
There is no Crowning of the Heart's Desire!’”
But Omar smiling, Cup in Hand, replies:
Say rather ‘Vanity of Vanities!
There is no Crowning of the Heart's Desire!’”
But Omar smiling, Cup in Hand, replies:
“Here is Nepenthe, here all Cares forget!
Sweet is this Lawn with wild Thyme dewy-wet,
And sweet in Dream to wander, as we pass
From Nothingness to Nothingness.” And yet
Sweet is this Lawn with wild Thyme dewy-wet,
And sweet in Dream to wander, as we pass
From Nothingness to Nothingness.” And yet
Majestic Shade, what marvel if well nigh
Hereof we dare to doubt thee, dare to sigh,
With Souls yet vibrant to thy deathless Strain,
“Can that which did beget the Immortal die?”
Hereof we dare to doubt thee, dare to sigh,
With Souls yet vibrant to thy deathless Strain,
“Can that which did beget the Immortal die?”
36
II
Now the veiled Watchers of the labouring Moon
With never-wearying Service none too soon
Have hid the still-born Summer Months from sight,
And Baby Winter 'gins to kick and croon.
With never-wearying Service none too soon
Have hid the still-born Summer Months from sight,
And Baby Winter 'gins to kick and croon.
Happy the Man who can with us forget
The Seasons' Difference, or the ruder Threat
Of Warrior-Wordsmen eager for the Fray,
Impoverished Peer, impetuous Suffragette.
The Seasons' Difference, or the ruder Threat
Of Warrior-Wordsmen eager for the Fray,
Impoverished Peer, impetuous Suffragette.
In this sequestered Garden of the Soul,
Heedless who finds not, or who finds, the Pole,
We pin our Faith upon Frascati's Cook,
Or toast a Peri while we tilt the Bowl.
Heedless who finds not, or who finds, the Pole,
We pin our Faith upon Frascati's Cook,
Or toast a Peri while we tilt the Bowl.
Then, Eyes and Ears expectant, as to greet
Some Lord of Art or eloquence, how sweet
To list the Fountain-Play of Fancy plash
In golden Words where Wit and Wisdom meet,
Some Lord of Art or eloquence, how sweet
To list the Fountain-Play of Fancy plash
In golden Words where Wit and Wisdom meet,
Or think of those, the unforgotten Great
Whom here with empty Glass we celebrate,
And marvel whether such as these were made
To be but Shuttlecocks of Time and Fate!
Whom here with empty Glass we celebrate,
And marvel whether such as these were made
To be but Shuttlecocks of Time and Fate!
Omar such Stuff as the Wind scattereth!
Fitzgerald Dust! We disbelieve thee, Death,
And, maugre thy loud Boastings of the Past,
Wait what the Future and the Silence saith.
Fitzgerald Dust! We disbelieve thee, Death,
And, maugre thy loud Boastings of the Past,
Wait what the Future and the Silence saith.
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