That yellow Cheek of hers toincarnadine.
Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To flyand Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.
And looka thousand Blossoms with the Day
Wokeand a thousand scatterd into Clay:
And this first Summer Month that brings the Rose
Shall take Jamshýd and Kaikobád away.
But come with old Khayyám, and leave the Lot
Of Kaikobád and Kaikhosrú forgot:
Let Rustum lay about him as he will,
Or Hátim Tai cry Supperheed them not.
With me along some Strip of Herbage strown
That just divides the desert from the sown,
Where name of Slave and Sultán scarce is known,
And pity Sultán Máhmúd on his Throne.
Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verseand Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness
And Wilderness is Paradise enow.
How sweet is mortal Sovranty!think some:
OthersHow blest the Paradise to come!
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