Rubaiyat of
Rumi
The Rubaiyat of
Jalal Al-Din Rumi Select translations into English Verse'
by A.J. Arberry, 1949.
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Time bringeth swift to end The rout
men keep; Death's wolf is nigh to rend These silly
sheep.
See, how in pride they go With lifted
head, Till Fate with a sudden blow Smiteth them
dead.
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Thou who lovest, life a
crow, Winter's chill and winter's snow, Ever exiled from the
vale's Roses red, and nightingales:
Take this moment to
thy heart! When the moment shall depart, Long thou 'lt seek
it as it flies With a hundred lamps and eyes.
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The heavenly rider
passed; The dust rose in the air; He sped; but the dust he
cast Yet hangeth there.
Straight forward thy vision be,
And gaze not left or night; His dust is here, and he In
the Infinite.
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Who was he that said The immortal
spirit is dead, Or how dared he say Hope's sun hath passed
away?
An enemy of the sun, Standing his roof
upon, Bound up both his eyes And cried: 'Lo, the sun
dies!'
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'Who lifteth up the spirit, Say,
who is he?' 'Who gave in the beginning This life to
me.
Who hoodeth, life a falcon's, Awhile mine
eyes, But presently shall loose me To hunt my
prize.'
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As salt resolved in the ocean I
was swallowed in God's sea, Past faith, past
unbelieving, Past doubt, past certainty.
Suddenly in my
bosom A star shone clear and bright; All the suns of
heaven Vanished in that star's light.
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Flowers every
night Blossom in the sky; Peace in the Infinite; At peace
am I.
Sighs a hundredfold From my heart arise; My
heart, dark and cold, Flames with my sighs.
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He that is my souls'
repose Round my heart encircling goes, Round my heart and
soul of bliss He encircling is.
Laughing from my earthy
bed Like a tree I lift my head, For the Fount of Living
mirth Washes round my earth.
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The breeze of the morn Scatters
musk in its train, Fragrance borne From my fair love's
lane.
Ere the world wastes, Sleep no more: arise! The
caravan hastes, The sweet scent dies.
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If life be gone,
fresh life to you God offereth, A life eternal to
renew This life of death.
The Fount of Immorality In
Love is found; The come, and in this boundless sea Of Love
be drowned.
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Happy was I In the pearl's heart
to lie; Till, lashed by life's hurricane, Life a tossed wave
I ran.
The secret of the sea I uttered
thunderously; Like a spent cloud on the shore I slept, and
stirred no more.
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He set the world aflame, And laid
me on the same; A hundred tongues of fire Lapped round my
pyre.
And when the blazing tide Engulfed me, and I
sighed, Upon my mouth in haste His hand He
placed.
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Though every way I try His whim
to satisfy, His every answering word Is a pointed
sword.
See how the blood drips From His
finger-tips; Why does He find it good To wash in my
blood?
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Remembering Thy lip, The ruby red
I kiss; Having not that to sip, My lips press
this.
Not to Thy far sky Reaches my stretched
hand, Wherefore kneeling, I Embrace the land. ™
I sought a soul in
the sea And found a coral there; Beneath the foam for
me An ocean was all laid bare.
Into my heart's
night Along a narrow way I groped; and lo! the light, An
infinite land of day.
'Persian
Poems', an Anthology of verse translations edited by
A.J.Arberry, Everyman's Library, 1972
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For years, copying other people, I
tried to know myself. From within, I couldn't decide what to
do. Unable to see, I heard my name being called. Then I
walked outside.
FURUZANFAR #77
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Take someone who doesn't keep score, who's
not looking to be richer, or afraid of losing, who has not the
slightest interest even is his own personality: he's
free.
FURUZANFAR #116
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Stay in the company of lovers. Those other kinds
of people, they each want to show you something. A crow will
lead you to an empty barn, A parrot to
sugar.
FURUZANFAR #630
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The sufi
opens his hands to the universe and gives away each instant,
free. Unlike someone who begs on the street for money to
survive, a dervish begss to give you his
life.
FURUZANFAR #686
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For a while we lived with people, but we
saw no sign in them of the faithfullness we wanted. It's better
to hide completely within as water hides in metal, as fire
hides in a rock.
FURUZANFAR #1082
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Inside the Great Mystery that is, we don't really
own anything. What is this competition we feel then, before
we go, one at a time, through the same
gate?
FURUZANFAR #1616 The
Rumi Collection, Quatrain from Open Secret (Translated by
John Moyne and Coleman Barks)
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