Whether at Naishapur or Babylon, Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run, The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop, The Leaves of Life keep falling one by one.

Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling: The Bird of Time bas but a little way To flutter - and the Bird is on th…

Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say; Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?

Iram indeed is gone with all his Rose, And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows; But still a Ruby kindles in the Vine, And many a Garden by the Water …