Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam — Chapter 4 (Part 17 of 19)

So while the Vessels one by one were speaking,

One spied the little Crescent all were seeking:

   And then they jogg’d each other, “Brother! Brother!

Hark to the Porter’s Shoulder-knot a-creaking!”

Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide,

And wash my Body whence the Life has died,

   And in a Windingsheet of Vine-leaf wrapt,

So bury me by some sweet Garden-side.

That ev’n my buried Ashes such a Snare

Of Perfume shall fling up into the Air,

   As not a True Believer passing by

But shall be overtaken unaware.

Indeed the Idols I have loved so long

Have done my Credit in Men’s Eye much wrong:

   Have drown’d my Honour in a shallow Cup,

And sold my Reputation for a Song.