These travelers have departed, and of them all, not one has returned to tell us of the hidden things concealed behind the veil. Oh, devout man, it is by a humble heart, and not by prayer, that the things which concern thy soul will be brought to a favourable issue, for prayer is of no avail to a man without sincerity and contrition.
[tr. McCarthy (1879), # 81]

Of all who have set out upon the long journey, who has come back, that I may ask him tidings? My friends, take heed to let naught go by in the hope of hopes for, be sure, you will not come back again.
[tr. McCarthy (1879), # 160]

Full many a hill and vale I journeyed o'er;
Journeyed through the world's wide quarters four,
But never heard of pilgrim who returned;
When once they go, they go to come no more.
[tr. Whinfield (1883), # 129]

Who e'er returned of all that went before,
To tell of that long road they travel o'er?
Leave naught undone of what you have to do,
For when you go, you will return no more.
[tr. Whinfield (1883), # 144/258]

They go away, and none is seen returning,
To teach that other world's recondite learning;
'T will not be shown for dull mechanic prayers,
Gor prayer is naught without true heartfelt yearning.
[tr. Whinfield (1883), # 148/266]

Of Those who have the "Long Road" travelled o'er,
Not One will bring Thee News of it, before
Thou too shalt go, and heed Thee that Thou leavest
Without Regret, Thou shalt return no more.
[tr. Garner (1887), 2.7]

Alas, that joy takes flight: not many hearts
The pangs of desolating grief are spared;
No traveller from Death's dark realm returns
To tell us how his fellow-pilgrims fared.
[tr. Bowen (1976), # 56]

Much have I wandered about far and wide,
I have wandered as far as every horizon/;
I have heard of nobody who came from this road,
The road he went by, the road of no return.
[tr. Avery/Heath-Stubbs (1979), # 49]

Ah, Love! could thou and I with Fate conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,
Would not we shatter it to bits -- and then
Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!
[tr. FitzGerald, 1st ed. (1859), # 73]

Ah Love! could you and I with Fate conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,
Would not we shatter it to bits -- and then
Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!
[tr. FitzGerald, 2nd ed. (1868), # 108]

If I, like God, were master of the heavens, I would blot them from the world, and fashion new skies beneath which free man might gain his heart's desire.
[tr. McCarthy (1879), # 378] (1888)]

Had I the right great Allah to advise,
I would bid him sweep away this earth and skies,
And build a better, where, unclogged and free,
The clear soul might essay her high emprise.
[tr. Whinfield (1882), # 200]

Had I the power great Allah to advise,
I'd bid him sweep away this earth and skies,
And build a better, where, unclogged and free,
The clear soul might achieve her high emprise.
[tr. Whinfield (1883), # 379]

Oh that to Heaven's Control I might aspire,
And sweep away this Universe Entire,
Then from the Ruins build another World,
Where Man might sometimes reach his Heart's Desire.
[tr. Garner (1887), 2.8]

If I like God o'er Heaven's high fate could reign,
I'd sweep away the present Heaven's domain,
And from its ruins such a new one build
That an honest heart its wish could aye attain!
[tr. M. K. (1888)]

If only I controlled God's Universe,
Would I not wipe away these faulty Heavens
And build from nothing a true Paradise
Where all souls could achieve their hearts' desire.
[tr. Graves & Ali-Shah (1967), # 105]

If the firmament were in my hand as in God's,
I would have razed it from the midst:
I would have made another firmament such that
The free of heart might easily attain their desire.
[tr. Avery/Heath-Stubbs (1979), # 25]

Like God, if this world I could control
Eliminating the world would be my role
I would create the world anew, whole
Such that the free soul would attain desired goal.
[tr. Shahriari (1998), literal]

I would sell the diadem of the khan, the crown of the king, to purchase the song of the flute girl. Let us sell the turban, yea, and the garment of silk, for a cup of wine; let us sell the chaplet which alone contains a multitude of hypocrisy.
[tr. McCarthy (1879), # 191]

The Ball no Question makes of Ayes and Noes,
But Right or Left as strikes the Player goes;
And He that toss'd Thee down into the Field,
He knows about it all -- He knows -- HE knows!
[tr. FitzGerald, 1st ed. (1859), # 50]

The Ball no Question makes of Ayes and Noes,
But Right or Left as strikes the Player goes;
And He that toss'd you down into the Field,
He knows about it all -- HE knows -- HE knows!
[tr. FitzGerald, 2nd ed. (1868), # 75; 3rd ed. (1872), 4th ed. (1879), 5th ed. (1889 ed.), # 70]

Man, like a ball, hither and thither goes,
As fate's resistless bat directs the blows;
But He, who gives thee up to this rude sport,
He knows what drives thee, yea, He knows, He knows!
[tr. Whinfield (1883), # 401]

Oh thou who art driven like a ball, by the bat of
Fate, go to the right or left -- drink wine and say
nothing, for that One who flung thee into the run
and search (mêlée) he knows, he knows, he knows, he -- .
[tr. Garner (1895 ms)]

O thou who art gone to the club of fate like a ball!
Go to the left and to the right; but say nothing;
For He that threw thee down amidst the galloping,
He knows, and He knows, and He knows, and He --
[tr. Rodwell (1931) # 50/70]

Poor ball, struck by Fate's heavy polo-mallet,
Running whichever way it drives you, numbed
Of sense, though He who set you on your course,
He knows, He knows, He knows.
[tr. Graves & Ali-Shah (1967), # 74]

Whirling like a ball before the mallet of Fate, go running to right and left, and say nothing; for he that hurled thee into the chase, He knows, and He knows, and He knows!
[tr. Bowen (1976), # 43]

Do not despair because to left and right
Fate drives you onward with his ballet-blows,
For He who flung you out into the fray,
He knows the game's technique -- He knows, He knows.
[tr. Bowen (1976), # 43]

In the cosmic game of polo you are the ball
The mallet’s left and right becomes your call
He who causes your movements, your rise and fall
He is the one, the only one, who knows it all.
[tr. Shahriari (1998), literal]

In the cosmic there is a flow
To which you must submit and bow
And though you act in this show
And seem to move to and fro
The plot you’ll never get to know
The only way you get to grow
Align yourself with this flow.
[tr. Shahriari (1998), figurative]

If sinfully I drudge, where is Your mercy?
If clouds darken my heart, where is Your light?
Heaven rewards my practice of obedience;
Rewards well-earned are good -- but what of grace?
[tr. Graves & Ali-Shah (1967), # 86]

None answer'd this; but after Silence spake
A Vessel of a more ungainly Make:
"They sneer at me for leaning all awry;
What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?"
[tr. FitzGerald, 1st ed. (1859), # 63]

None answer'd this; but after Silence spake
A Vessel of a more ungainly Make:
"They sneer at me for leaning all awry;
What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?"
[tr. FitzGerald, 2nd ed. (1868), # 93]

After a momentary silence spake
Some Vessel of a more ungainly Make;
"They sneer at me for leaning all awry:
What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?"
[tr. FitzGerald, 3rd ed. (1872), # 86; also 4th ed. and 5th ed. (1889)]

Thou who commandest the quick and the dead, the wheel of heaven obeys thy hand. What if I am evil, am I not Thy slave? Which then is the guilty one? Art Thou not Lord of all?
[tr. McCarthy (1879), # 344; in some # 345]

The potter did himself these vessels frame,
What makes him cast them out to scorn and shame?
If he has made them well, why should he break them?
And though he marred them, they are not to blame.
[tr. Whinfield (1882), # 52]

Who framed the lots of quick and dead but Thou?
Who turns the wheel of baleful fate but Thou?
We are Thy slaves, our wills are not our own,
We are Thy creatures, our creator Thou!
[tr. Whinfield (1882), # 242]

Who framed the lots of quick and dead but Thou?
Who turns the troublous wheel of heaven but Thou?
Though we are sinful slaves, is it for Thee
To blame us? Who created us but Thou?
[tr. Whinfield (1883), # 471]

From God's own hand this earthly vessel came,
He shaped it thus, be it for fame or shame;
If it be fair -- to God be all the praise,
If it be foul -- to God alone the blame.
[tr. Le Gallienne (1897)]

Almighty Potter, on whose wheel of blue
The world is fashioned and is broken too,
Why to the race of men is heaven so dire?
In what, O wheel, have I offended you?
[tr. Le Gallienne (1897)]

Our Guardian chose our natures. Is He then
Delinquent when He treats us with disorder?
We ask: "Why break the best of us?" and murmur:
"Is the pot guilty if it stands awry?"
[tr. Graves & Ali-Shah (1967), # 93]

When the Maker formed nature
Why imperfect was the venture
If it is good, why departure
And if bad, why form capture?
[tr. Shahriari (1998), literal]

When the Creator forged the shape
Why was mankind a mere ape?
If it were good, why cloak and cape?
If unsightly, why this rape?
[tr. Shahriari (1998), figurative]

Another said -- "Why, ne'er a peevish Boy,
"Would break the Bowl from which he drank in Joy;
"Shall He that made the Vessel in pure Love
"And Fancy, in an after Rage destroy?
[tr. FitzGerald, 1st ed. (1859), # 62]

Another said, "Why, ne'er a peevish Boy
"Would break the Cup from which he drank in Joy;
"Shall He that of his own free Fancy made
"The Vessel, in an after-rage destroy!"
[tr. FitzGerald, 2nd ed. (1868), # 92]

Then said a Second -- "Ne'er a peevish Boy
"Would break the Bowl from which he drank in joy;
"And He that with his hand the Vessel made
"Will surely not in after Wrath destroy."
[tr. FitzGerald, 3rd ed. (1872), # 85; 4th ed. (1879) # 85; 5th ed. (1889), # 78]

Who can believe that he who made the cup would dream of destroying it? All those fair faces, all those lovely limbs, all those enchanting bodies, what love has made them, and what hate destroys them?
[tr. McCarthy (1879), # 100]

Behold these cups! Can He who deigned to make them,
In wanton freak let ruin overtake them,
So many shapely feet and hands and heads, --
What love drives Him to make, what wrath to break them?
[tr. Whinfield (1883), # 42]

What man believes that He who made the Vase
Will sometime shatter it in Anger base?
The Maker of these weak misguided Men
Will surely not in Wrath His Works efface.
[tr. Garner (1887), 8.8]

The elements of a cup which he has put together,
their breaking up a drinker cannot approve,
all these heads and delicate feet -- with his finger-tips,
for love of whom did he make them? -- for hate of whom did he break them?
[tr. Heron-Allen (1898), # 19]

He who has formed the goblet from the clay
Can ne'er destroy his art's surpassing token.
These hands and feet and face of beauty -- say,
Why framed in love, and why in fury broken?
[tr. Cadell (1899), # 12]

The framework of the cup He did unite.
To break in rage how should God deem it right?
So many comely heads, feet, hands and arms!
Shaped by what love, and broke in what despite?
[tr. Thompson (1906), # 81]

The Craftsman who hath made a cup so rare
To hold his wine, will handle it with care.
For love of whom, then, made He thee and me,
or hate of whom to break and not to spare?
[tr. Talbot (1908), # 19]

It is not allowable for a man, [even when] drunk, to destroy
the composition of a cup which he has put together.
So many fair heads and feet, formed by His hand, for
love of whom did He make them? and for hate of whom
did He destroy them?
[tr. Christensen (1927), # 77]

The parts which have united to form a goblet
Even the intoxicated refrain to break up again.
So many heads and tender hands;
By whose bounty were they united and through whose wrath were they broken up?
[tr. Rosen (1928), # 10]

We know that body once can earn His grace,
We should not wear it hence in wasteful ways;
Such graceful form, and slender hands and face,
He cherished so, should we in hate efface?
[tr. Tirtha (1941), # 5.16]

The elements that constitute a bowl
Hate all besotted murderers of bowls --
Bowls deftly moulded for the love of whom?
Then dashed to pieces, as a curse on whom?
[tr. Graves & Ali-Shah (1967), # 92]

This bowl, which in its symmetry
Before us perfect stands,
The Potter made from particles
Of human heads and hands.
His love achieved a masterpiece:
Whose hate, what drunken whim,
Could shater into nothingness
The clay so loved by him?
[tr. Bowen (1976), # 50 "The Potter"]

When the clay into a cup is molded
Its breaking, the drunk scolded;
Many limbs and heads are enfolded
Through whose love unfolded, by which decree folded?
[tr. Shahriari (1998), # 27, literal]

The genius that shapes the form
Is far above mundane and norm
Clay into life shall transform
Back into dust by death’s storm.
[tr. Shahriari (1998), # 27, figurative]

My coming was not of mine own design,
And one day I must go, and no choice of mine;
Come, light-handed cupbearer, gird thee to serve,
We must wash down the care of this world with wine.
[tr. Cowell (1858), # 8]

What, without asking, hither hurried whence
And, without asking, wither hurried hence!
Another and another Cup to drown
The Memory of this Impertinence!
[tr. FitzGerald, 1st ed. (1859), # 30]

What, without asking, hither hurried whence
And, without asking, wither hurried hence!
Ah, contrite Heav'n endowed us with the Vine
To drug the memory of that insolence.
[tr. FitzGerald, 2nd ed. (1868), # 33]

What, without asking, hither hurried Whence?
And, without asking, Whither hurried hence!
Oh, many a Cup of this forbidden Wine
Must drown the memory of that insolence!
[tr. FitzGerald, 3rd ed. (1872), # 30; 4th ed. (1879); 5th ed. (1889)]

O Cup-Bearer, since Time lurks hard by ready to shatter you and me, this world can never be an abiding dwelling for you and me. But come what may, assure yourself that God is in our hands while this cup of wine stands between you and me.
[tr. McCarthy (1879), # 35]

I came not hither of my own free will,
And go against my wish, a puppet still;
Cupbearer! gird thy loins and fetch some wine;
To purge the world's despite, my goblet fill.
[tr. Whinfield (1883), # 110; (1882) # 641]

Since hither, willy nilly, I came the other day
And hence must soon be going, without my yea or nay,
Up, cupbearer! thy middle come gird without delay;
The world and all its troubles with wine I 'll wash away.
[tr. Payne (1898), # 94]

Seeing that my coming was not for me the Day of Creation,
and that my undesired departure hence is a purpose fixed for me,
get up and gird well thy loins, O nimble Cup bearer,
for I will wash down the misery of the world in wine.
[tr. Heron-Allen (1898), # 21]

As my first coming was no wish of mine
So my departure I can not devise.
Gird thyself, Saki! Fair bright Saki rise,
Lest time should fail to drink this skin of wine.
[tr. Cadell (1899), # 37]

Since coming at the first was naught of mine,
And I unwilling go by fixed design,
Cupbearer, rise! and quickly gird thy loins!
For worldly sorrows I'll wash down in wine!
[tr. Thompson (1906), # 157]

I was not asked to choose my natal morn,
I die as helplessly as I was born.
Bring wine, and I will strive to wash away
The recollection of Creation's scorn.
[tr. Talbot (1908), # 21]

Since my coming was not of my own choosing from
the first day, and my going has been irrevocably fixed without my will,
arise and gird thy loins, o nimble Sáqí, for I will
wash down the grief of the world with wine.
[tr. Christensen (1927), # 32]

Since here I came unwilling and perforce,
To go unplanning is my proper course;
Arise O Guide! and girdle up thy waist,
And with Thy Word absolve me from remorse.
[tr. Tirtha (1941), # 8.72]

My presence here has been no choice of mine;
Fate hounds me most unwillingly away.
Rise, wrap a cloth about your loins, my Saki,
And swill away the misery of this world.
[tr. Graves & Ali-Shah (1967), # 32]

Since at first my coming was not at my will,
And the going is involuntarily imposed,
Arise, fasten your belt brisk wine-boy,
I'll drown the world's sorrow in wine.
[tr. Avery/Heath-Stubbs (1979), # 94]

Ah, fill the Cup: -- what boots it to repeat
How Time is slipping underneath our Feet:
Unborn To-morrow and dead Yesterday,
Why fret about them if To-day be sweet!
[tr. FitzGerald, 1st ed. (1859), # 37]

Yesterday This Day's Madness did prepare;
To-morrow's Silence, Triumph, or Despair:
Drink! for you know not whence you came, nor why:
Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where.
[tr. FitzGerald, 2nd ed. (1868), # 80]

Be on your guard, my friend, for you will be sundered from your soul, you will pass behind the curtain of the secrets of heaven. Drink wine, for you know not whence you come. Be merry, for you know not where you go.
[tr. McCarthy (1879), # 180]

O soul, so soon to leave this coil below,
And pass the dread mysterious curtain through,
Be of good cheer, and joy you while you may,
You wot not whence you come, nor whither go.
[tr. Whinfield (1882), # 40]

Make haste! soon must you quit this life below,
And pass the veil, and Allah's secrets know;
Make haste to take your pleasure while you may,
You wot not whence you come, nor whither go.
[tr. Whinfield (1883), # 48 or 87]

Ah Brother, but a little while, and Thou shalt find
Thy Lasting Home the 'Secret Veil' behind; --
Rejoice Thy Heart and banish Grief, for know, --
Thy source, Thy Goal, has never been defined.
[tr. Garner (1887), 7.8]

Ah, brother, but a little while and thou shalt find
Eternal rest, the secret veil behind;
Rejoice thy heart and banish grief, for know --
Thy source, thy goal, has never been divined.
[tr. Garner (1898), # 148]

'Tis a strange world we came to, You and I,
Whence no man knows, and surely none knows why,
Why we remain -- a harder question still,
And still another -- whither when we die?
[tr. Le Gallienne (1897)]

Bethink thee that soulless and bare thou shalt go;
The veil of God's mysteries to tear thou shalt go:
Drink wine, for thou knowest not whence thou hast come;
Live blithe, for thou knowest not where thou shalt go.
[tr. Payne (1898), # 188]

Know this --- that from thy soul thou shalt be separated,
thou shalt pass behind the curtain of the secrets of God.
Be happy -- thou knowest not whence thou hast come:
drink wine - thou knowest not whither thou shalt go.
[tr. Heron-Allen (1898), # 26]

Thou shalt be parted from thy soul, and then,
Enter God's veil of mystery again;
Be glad! For whence you came you do not know;
Drink! For you wist as little where you go.
[tr. Cadell (1899), # 26]

Soon shall you bid farewell to mortal tie;
Soon shall you read life's deepest mystery.
Drink, for you know not when you go, nor where;
Drink, for you know not whence you came, nor why.
[tr. Roe (1906), # 35]

Since from your soul you separate, then know
Behind God's secret veil you will go, too;
Drink wine! for you know not whence you have come;
Be jocund! for you know not where you go!
[tr. Thompson (1906), # 136]

Know this, that soon thou diest, and thy soul
The Book of God's Great Secret must unroll;
Be happy! knowing not whence thou hast come,
Nor whither thou shalt go. Drink out the Bowl!
[tr. Talbot (1908), # 26]

Know that thou shalt depart, deprived of thy soul; thou
shalt go behind the veil of the mystery of annihilation.
Drink wine: thou knowest not whence thou art come.
Be merry! thou knowest not whither thou shalt go.
[tr. Christensen (1927), # 15]

Ye go from soul asunder this ye know,
And that ye creep, behind His curtain low;
Hence sing His Name, ye know not whence ye came,
And live sedate, ye know not where to go.
[tr. Tirtha (1941), 9.99]

What, without asking, hither hurried whence?
And, without asking, whither hurried hence!
Another and another cup to drown
The Memory of this impertinence.
[tr. Graves & Ali-Shah (1967)]

One night, I beheld in a dream a sage, who said to me, "In sleep, O mhy friend, the rose of joy has never blossomed for any man. Why do you do a deed so like to death? Arise, and drink wine, for you will sleep sound enough beneath the earth.
[tr. McCarthy (1879), # 47] (1888)]

Last night I dreamed I met a sage who said:
"Doth e'er in sleep the rosebud lift its head?
Why sleep, for sleep is but akin to death,
And thou shalt sleep enough when thou art dead?"
[tr. Garner (1887), 91]

Life is so short, yet sleeps thy lovely head;
Why make so soon a death-bed of thy bed?
O love, awake! thy beauty wastes away --
Thou shalt sleep on and on when thou art dead.
[tr. Le Gallienne (1897), # 33]

In a dream of the night quoth a sage me unto:
"Rose of gladness for mortal from sleep never blew;
A thing, then, to death that akin is why do?
Up, for under the earth thou shalt slumber thy due!"
[tr. Payne (1898), # 196]

I fell asleep, and wisdom said to me: --
"Never from sleep has the rose of happiness blossomed for anyone;
why do a thing that is the mate of death?
Drink wine, for thou must sleep for ages."
[tr. Heron-Allen (1898), # 27]

'Twas while I slept, that thus a wise man spoke: --
"Sleep never caused joy's rose in man to bloom,
Why court you thus the fellow of death's yoke?
Drink now, you'll sleep enough in earth's dark womb."
[tr. Cadell (1899), # 16]

I lay upon my couch in slumber deep,
And Wisdom cried aloud, "Oh, wherefore sleep?
For sleep is kin to death; drink while you may;
Eternal slumber hastens o'er the steep!"
[tr. Roe (1906), # 20]

I dreamt that Wisdom came to me and said,
"In sleep for none joy's roses petals spread,
In life why dost thou mimic death? Arise!
For sleep thou must when 'neath earth is thy bed."
[tr. Thompson (1906), # 93]

Falling asleep, I heard my Fate confess
That Sleep ne'er bore the Rose of Happiness.
"Sleep is the Mate of Death," she cried. "Awake!
Drink, ere Her lips bestow the last caress!"
[tr. Talbot (1908), # 27]

I dropped asleep. A wise man said to me: "From sleep
the rose of pleasure did never bloom for anyone.
Why do you meddle with that which is of a piece
with death ? Drink wine for we must sleep during many a lifetime."
[tr. Christensen (1927), # 59]

I fell asleep, and a wise man said to me:
"Sleep has brought to no one the rose of bliss.
Why do a thing which is the twin of death?
Drink wine, for many a life-time you must slumber".
[tr. Rosen (1928), # 43]

In sleep I was -- A sage then told me so:
"In darkness fruit of bliss will never grow,
Arise and fight with Death, avoid his blow;
Ere long you sleep within The Pit below."
[tr. Tirtha (1941), # 7.1]

I was asleep, a wise man said to me
"The rose of joy does not bloom for slumberers;
Why are you asleep? Sleep is the image of death,
Drink wine, below the ground you must sleep of necessity.
[tr. Avery/Heath-Stubbs (1979), # 159]

No one has ever passed behind the veil that masks the secrets of God. No one shall ever pass behind it ; there is no other dwellingplace for us than the bosom of the earth. Woe 's me that this secret, too, should be so short.
[tr. McCarthy (1879), # 19]

All mortal ken is bounded by the veil,
To see beyond man's sight is all too frail;
Yea! earth's dark bosom is his only home; --
Alas! 'twere long to tell the doleful tale.
[tr. Whinfield (1883), # 28 or # 47]

For none behind the veil of myst'ries way is;
None in the secret of the world's array is:
Save in earth's breast, for us no place of stay is;
Give ear, for no light matter this I say is.
[tr. Payne (1898), # 60]

No one can pass behind the curtain that veils the secret,
the mind of no one is cognizant of what is there;
save in the heart of earth we have no haven.
Drink wine, for to such talk there is no end.
[tr. Heron-Allen (1898), # 29]

Behind that veil no man has found a way,
Nor knows he anything of life's array,
He has no home but underneath the clay;
Thy truth thy sorrow is, O woeful lay!
[tr. Cadell (1899), # 14]

The secret 's hidden from the mortal eye,
Nor living soul can read the mystery;
Save in the heart of earth, we have no rest;
So fill the bowl, 'twill soon be time to die.
[tr. Roe (1906), # 19]

For none is there a way behind the veil.
Who tries to pierce its secrets but doth fail?
The only place of rest is earth's dark breast,
Alas, that far from short should be the tale!
[tr. Thompson (1906), # 29]

Behind the veil of the secrets there is no way for anybody.
Of this scheme of things the soul of no man has any knowledge.
There is no dwelling-place except in the heart of the dust.
Drink wine, for such tales are not short to tell.
[tr. Christensen (1927), # 61]

No one has access to the veil of mystery;
Of this system of life no one has any knowledge.
Except in the heart of the earth there is no resting-place.
Listen, for these tales are not short.
[tr. Rosen (1928), # 42]

Behind the secret curtain none can go,
How life is decked and painted none can know;
But then we have to wait in dusty pits --
Alas this endless tale! and weary show!
[tr. Tirtha (1941), # 148]

No man has the way within the veil of mysteries; of this arrangement the soul of none is aware: there is no alighting-place, save in the heart of the dark earth -- drink wine, for such fables are not short.
[tr. Bowen (1976), # 46]

The world we look at is a painted veil
Which hides God’s presence and the Will Divine,
And since its legends are not briefly told,
Here is their gist -- imbibe it with your wine:
This world’s the only pleasance that we know,
The home where we’ve been cherished since our birth,
And, when we die, our bodies lie at peace
Within a darkened sanctuary of earth.
[tr. Bowen (1976), # 46, "The World"]

No one knows the way through the curtain of mysteries,
No one's soul has true knowledge of this natural life,
There is no resting-place but in the heart of earth,
Drink wine because these tales are never finished.
[tr. Avery/Heath-Stubbs (1979), # 158]

All things that be were long since marked upon the tablet of creation. Heaven's pencil has naught to do with good or evil. God set on fate its necessary seal; and all our efforts are but a vain striving.
[tr. McCarthy (1879), # 86] (1888)

To me there is much comfort in the thought
That all our agonies can alter nought,
Our lives are written to their latest word,
We but repeat a lesson He hath taught.
[tr. Le Gallienne (1897), # 93]

Whatever betides on the Tablet of Destiny writ is;
Of good and of evil thenceforward the Pen Divine quit is:
In Fate foreordained whatsoever behoveth It 'stablished:
Our stress and our strife and our thought-taking vain every whit is.
[tr. Payne (1898), # 191]

From the beginning was written what shall be;
Unhaltingly the Pen writes, and is heedless of good and bad;
On the First Day He appointed everything that must be --
Our grief and our efforts are vain.
[tr. Heron-Allen (1898), # 31]

Long, long ago, man's fate was graven clear,
The pen left nought unwrit of joy or woe;
Since from eternity God ruled it so
Then senseless are our grief and striving here.
[tr. Cadell (1899), # 11]

Ere yet the dawn of Azal shed its light
O'er dreary chaos and the realms of night,
The Pen, unmoved by good and evil, wrote;
Nor grief can change, nor endless toil rewrite.
[tr. Roe (1906), # 21]

Fate's marks upon the tablet still remain
As first, the Pen unmoved by bliss or bane;
In fate whate'er must be it did ordain,
To grieve or to resist is all in vain.
[tr. Thompson (1906), # 69]

For He, to whom all future things are known,
E'en as He made thee wrote thy record down;
And what His pen hath written, good or ill,
No strife may alter, and no grief atone.
[tr. Talbot (1908), # 31]

From of old the scheme of all that must be has existed.
The pen of destiny has written good and evil without ceasing.
He has appointed in predestination all that must come.
We distress and bestir ourselves, but all to no avail.
[tr. Christensen (1927), # 91]

Before now there have been signs of what is to come,
The pen never rests from good or evil.
Destiny has given you all that is to be,
Our worries and our endeavours are in vain.
[tr. Rosen (1928), # 53]

His tablet bears the future but concealed,
His pen is calm if good or bad we yield.
The powers gave us proper share at first,
With grief or strife no less nor more we wield.
[tr. Tirtha (1941), # 6.16]

What we shall be is written, and we are so.
Heedless of God or Evil, pen, write on!
By the first day all futures were decided;
Which gives our griefs and pains irrelevancy.
[tr. Graves & Ali-Shah (1967), # 75]

The characters of all creatures are on the Tablet,
The Pen always worn with writing "Good," "Bad":
Our grieving and striving are in vain,
Before time began all that was necessary was given.
[tr. Avery/Heath-Stubbs (1979), # 26]

Signs of destiny have always been
Those hands inscribed both good and mean
What was written, came from the unseen
Though we tried without and worried within.
[tr. Shahriari (1998), # 24, literal]

One is great
Who faces fate
Before it’s late,
Appreciate
The destined state
No matter how much we debate
Oppose, engage, or calculate
Even try to accelerate
Fate only moves at its own rate.
Futile is worry, anger and hate
Joy is the only worthy mate.
[tr. Shahriari (1998), # 24, figurative]

Yes, since whate'er the Pen of Fate has traced
For Tears of Man will never be erased,
Support thy Ills, do not bemoan thy Lot,
Let all of Fate's Decrees be bravely faced.
[tr. Garner (1887), 4.4]

Whatever laws the pen of Fate has traced
For tears of man will never be erased;
Support thy ills, do not bemoan thy lot,
Let all of Fate's decrees be boldly faced.
[tr. Garner (1898), # 83]

What the Pen has written never changes,
and grieving only results in deep affliction;
even though, all thy life, thou sufferest anguish,
not one drop becomes increased beyond what is.
[tr. Heron-Allen (1898), # 54]

Nought can be changed of what was first decreed,
Grieve as thou wilt, no heart but thine will bleed;
If thy life long, thine eyes shed tears of blood,
'Twill not increase one drop woe's raging flood.
[tr. Cadell (1899), # 89]

For what is written, be it long or brief,
Remains the same, nor tears can give relief;
No drop of destiny is less nor more,
Though naught you know but lifelong pain and grief.
[tr. Roe (1906), # 24]

To change the written scroll there is no power.
And grieving only makes your heart bleed sore.
Though anguish all your life consume your blood.
You cannot add to it one drop the more.
[tr. Thompson (1906), # 73]

Whate'er the Pen hath written stands for aye:
Afflictions's sword the grieving heart will slay;
Though all thy life with anguish thou art wrung,
The forward march of Fate thou canst not stay.
[tr. Talbot (1908), # 54]

The Fate will not correct what once she writes,
And more than what is doled no grain alights;
Beware of bleeding heart with sordid cares,
For cares will cast thy heart in wretched plights.
tr. Tirtha (1941), # 6.12]

Oh my heart, since life's reality is illusion,
Why vex thyself with its sorrows and cares?
Commit thee to fate, contented with the hour,
For the pen, once passed, returns not back for thee!
[tr. Cowell (1858), # 15]

Since life has, love! no true reality,
Why let its coil of cares a trouble be?
Yield thee to Fate, whatever of pain it bring:
The Pen will never unwrite its writ for thee!
[tr. M. K. (1888)]

O heart! this world is but a fleeting show,
Why should its empty griefs distress thee so?
Bow down and bear thy fate, the eternal pen
Will not unwrite its roll for thee, I trow!
[tr. Whinfield (1883), # 257]

O heart, my heart, since the very basis of all this world's gear is but a fable, why do you adventure in such an infinite abyss of sorrows? Trust thyself to fate, uphold the evil, for what the pencil has traced will not be effaced for you.
[tr. McCarthy (1879), # 159] (1888)

Oh, heart! since in this world truth itself is hyperbole,
why art thou so disquieted with this trouble and abasement?
resign thy body to destiny, and adapt thyself to the times,
for, what the Pen has written, it will not rewrite for thy sake.
[tr. Heron-Allen (1898), # 95]

O heart! 'tis true that all this world is vain,
Wherefore then eat the fruit of sorrow's tree?
To fate thy body yield, endure the pain;
The once split pen will never mend for thee.
[tr. Cadell (1899), # 100]

O, Heart! Since earth's truth is illusion vain,
Why so distressed in lasting grief and pain?
Bear trouble ! Bow to Fate ! Once gone the Pen
For thee will never trace the scroll again!
[tr. Thompson (1906), # 300]

O heart! truth absolute thou canst not see,
Then why abase theyself in misery?
Bow down to Fate, and wrestle not with Time!
The pen will not rewrite one word for thee.
[tr. Talbot (1908), # 95]

Oh heart, as in truth the world is but a delusion,
Why grieve so much at this dearth of kindness?
Give thyself up to fate and befriend thy sorrow,
For this pen will not retrace its writing for thee.
[tr. Rosen (1928), # 170]

O mind! the world is but a mocking sight,
You fancy some delights, and fret in fright;
Resign yourself to Him, and pine for Him,
You cannot alter what is black on white.
tr. Tirtha (1941), # 6.11]

Oh heart, since the world's reality is illusion,
How long will you complain about this torment?
Resign your body to fate and put up with the pain,
Because what the Pen has written for you it will not unwrite.
[tr. Avery/Heath-Stubbs (1979), # 32]

For in the Market-place, one Dusk of Day,
I watch'd the Potter thumping his wet Clay:
And with its all obliterated Tongue
It murmur'd -- "Gently, Brother, gently, pray!"
[tr. FitzGerald, 1st ed. (1859), # 36]

For I remember stopping by the way
To watch a Potter thumping his wet Clay:
And with its all-obliterated Tongue
It murmur'd -- "Gently, Brother, gently, pray!"
[tr. FitzGerald, 2nd ed. (1868), # 40; 4th ed. (1879), # 37; 5th ed. (1889), # 37]

For I remember stopping by the way
To watch a Potter thumping his wet Clay,
And with its all-obliterated Tongue
It murmur'd -- "Gently, Brother, gently, pray?"
[tr. FitzGerald, 3rd ed. (1872), # 37]

Yesterday I beheld at the bazaar a potter smiting with all his force the clay he was kneading. The earth seemed to cry out to him, "I also was such as thou -- treat me therefore less harshly."
[tr. McCarthy (1879), # 245]

I saw a busy potter by the way
Kneading with might and main a lump of clay;
And, lo! the clay cried, "Use me gently, pray,
I was a man myself but yesterday!"
[tr. Whinfield (1883), # 252]

I saw a Potter at his Work to-day,
With rudest Hand he shaped his yielding Clay,
"Oh gently Brother, do not treat me thus,
I too, was once a Man," I heard it say.
[tr. Garner (1887), 7.9]

I saw a potter at his work to-day,
Shaping with rudest hand his whirling clay, --
"Ah, gently, brother, do not treat me thus,
I too was once a man," I heard it say.
[tr. Garner (1898), # 57]

A potter I saw in the market yesterday
With many a buffet belabour a lump of clay.
The which, with the tongue of the case, "Thy like I've been;
Have some regard for me, prithee!" to him did say.
[tr. Payne (1898), # 434]

I saw a potter in the bazaar yesterday,
he was violently pounding the fresh clay,
and that clay said to him, in mystic language,
"I was once like thee -- so treat me well."
[tr. Heron-Allen (1898), # 89]

In the bazaar, I saw but yesterday
A potter hitting hard at his wet clay;
And it, as best it could, cried out; "Let be;
"I was as thou art once, be good to me."
[tr. Cadell (1899), # 93]

In the Bazaar I saw but yesterday
A potter pounding hard a lump of clay;
The clay cried out to him in mystic tones,
"I once was like thee, treat me gently, pray!"
[tr. Thompson (1906), # 295]

In the Bazaar I saw, but yesterday,
A potter rudely pounding the fresh clay;
The clay in mystic language made complaint --
"I too was once like thee: thy hand then stay!"
[tr. Talbot (1908), # 89]

Yesterday I saw a potter in the bazar. He beat the
fresh clay with many strokes,
and that clay said to him in its own language: "Once
I was [a being] like thee; so treat me gently."
[tr. Christensen (1927), # 68]

Yesterday I saw a potter in the market-place
Trampling down fresh clay with many a kick.
And this clay seemed to say to him:
"I was as you; deal gently with me."
[tr. Rosen (1928), # 161]

I saw a potter working in the mart,
He kicked a clod of earth which made it smart;
I heard the clay beseach him: "Master! please!
Like thee I once have been, be kind at heart."
[tr. Tirtha (1941), # 5.28]

In the view of reality, not of illusion,
We mortals are chess-men and fate is the player;
We each act our game on the board of life,
And then one by one are swept into the box!
[tr. Cowell (1858), # 27]

Impotent Pieces of the Game He plays
Upon this Chequer-board of Nights and Days;
Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays;
And one by one back in the Closet lays.
[tr. FitzGerald, 2nd ed. (1868), # 74, and 3rd ed. (1872) # 69]

But helpless Pieces of the Game He plays
Upon this Chequer-board of Nights and Days;
Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays,
And one by one back in the Closet lays.
[tr. FitzGerald, 4th ed. (1879), # 49, and 5th ed. (1889), # 49]

Here, below, we are naught but puppets tor the diversion of the wheel of the heavens. This is indeed a truth, and no simile. We truly are but pieces on this chessboard of humanity, which in the end we leave, only to enter, one by one, into the grave of nothingness.
[tr. McCarthy (1879), # 61]

We are but chessmen, who to move are fain,
Just as the great Chessplayer doth ordain.
It moves us on life's chess-board to and fro,
And then in death's box shuts us up again.
[tr. Whinfield (1882), # 148]

We are but chessmen, destined, it is plain,
That great chess player, Heaven, to entertain;
It moves us on life's chess-board to and fro,
And then in death's box shuts up again.
[tr. Whinfield (1883), # 270]

We are all Puppets of the Sky, we run
As wills the Player till the Game is done,
And when The Player wearies of the Sport,
He throws us into Darkness One by One.
[tr. Garner (1887), 4.2]

But puppets are we in Fate's puppet-show --
No figure of speech is this, but in truth 't is so!
On the draughtboard of Life we are shuffled to and fro,
Then one by one to the box of Nothing go!
[tr. M. K. (1888)]

HERE, BELOW, WE ARE NAUGHT BUT
PUPPETS FOR THE DIVERSION OF THE
WHEEL OF THE HEAVENS. THIS IS
INDEED A TRUTH, AND NO SIMILE.
WE TRULY ARE BUT PIECES ON
THIS CHESSBOARD OF HUMANITY,
WHICH IN THE END WE LEAVE, ONLY
TO ENTER, ONE BY ONE, INTO THE
GRAVE OF NOTHINGNESS.
[tr. McCarthy (1889)]

Upon this checkerboard of joys and woes
The wretched puppet hither and thither goes,
Until the mighty Player of the skies
His plaything back in the casket throws.
[tr. Garner (1898), # 82]

We're the pieces Heaven moves on the chessboard of space
(No metaphor this, but the truth of the case);
Each awhile on Life's board plays his game and returns
In the box of nonentity back to his place.
[tr. Payne (1898), # 480]

To speak plain language, and not in parables,
we are the pieces and heaven plays the game,
we are played together in a baby-game upon the chessboard of existence,
and one by one we return to the box of non-existence.
[tr. Heron-Allen (1898), # 94]

'Tis not a fancy of disordered brains
But certain truth, that on life's checkered square
We men are puppets, whose steps God ordains;
The time is short in which we dally there,
Then in death's casket one by one we fall,
The game is played and earth must cover all.
[tr. Cadell (1899), # 108]

Like helpless chessmen on the checkered blocks,
We 're hither, thither moved, till Heaven knocks
The luckless pieces from the crowded board,
And one by one returns them to the box.
[tr. Roe (1906), # 53]

In truth and not by way of simile.
Heaven plays the game and its mere puppets we;
In sport moved on Life's chess-board, one by one
We reach the chess-box of Nonentity!
[tr. Thompson (1906), # 317]

To speak plain language, parable to shame,
We are the pieces, Heaven plays the game:
A childish game upon the board of Life,
Then back into the Box from whence we came.
[tr. Talbot (1908), # 94]

To speak the truth and not as a metaphor, we are
the pieces of the game and Heaven the player.
We play a little game on the chessboard of existence.
Then we go back to the box of non-existence, one by one.
[tr. Christensen (1927), # 6]

This is not an allegory, it is reality:
We are the figures and the Sphere is the player.
We act a play on the boards of existence
And we go back into the box of non-existence one by one.
[tr. Rosen (1928), # 168]

We puppets dance to tunes of Time we know,
We are puppets in fact, and not for show;
Existence is the carpet where we dance,
So one by one where aught is naught we go.
[tr. Tirtha (1941), # 2.6]

Let me speak out, unallegorically:
We are mere puppets of our Master, toys.
On the Table of Existence, one by one.
Flung back in the toy box of Non-existence.
[tr. Graves & Ali-Shah (1967), # 73]

We are but chessmen in God’s scheme of things:
The most are merely pawns, a few are kings;
And when our unimportant game is done
Back in the box we tumble one by one.
[tr. Bowen (1976), # 44]

We are the puppets and fate the puppeteer
This is not a metaphor, but a truth sincere
On this stage, fate for sometime our moves steer
Into the chest of non-existence, one by one disappear.
[tr. Shahriari (1998), literal]

The hands of fate play our game
We the players are given a name
Some are tame, others gain fame
Yet in the end, we’re all the same.
[tr. Shahriari (1998), figurative]

Lip to lip I passionately kissed the bowl,
To learn from it the secret of length of days;
Lip to lip in answer it whispered reply,
"Drink wine, for once gone thou shalt never return!"
[tr. Cowell (1858), # 25]

Then to this earthen Bowl did I adjourn
My Lip the secret Well of Life to learn:
And Lip to Lip it murmur'd -- "While you live,
"Drink! -- for once dead you never shall return."
[tr. FitzGerald, 1st ed. (1859), # 34]

Then to the Lip of this poor earthen Urn
I lean'd, the secret Well of Life to learn:
And Lip to Lip it murmur'd -- "While you live,
"Drink! -- for, once dead, you never shall return."
[tr. FitzGerald, 2nd ed. (1868), # 34]

O offspring of the four and five, art puzzled by the four and five? Drink deep, for I have told thee time on time, that once departed, thou returnest no more.
[tr. McCarthy (1879), # 245]

I put my lips to the cup, for I did yearn
The secret of the future life to learn;
And from his lip I heard a whisper drop,
"Drink! for once gone you never will return."
[tr. Whinfield (1882), # 149]

I put my lips to the cup, for I did yearn
The means of gaining length of days to learn;
It leaned its lip to mine, and whispered low,
"Drink! for, once gone, you never will return."
[tr. Whinfield (1883), # 152, elsewhere # 274]

I put my lips to the cup, for I did yearn
The hidden cause of length of days to learn;
He leaned its lip to mine, and whispered low,
"Drink! for, once gone, you never will return."
[tr. Whinfield (188?), # 274]

Slave of four elements and sevenfold heaven,
Who aye bemoan the thrall of these eleven,
Drink! I have told you seventy times and seven,
Once gone, nor hell will send you back, nor heaven.
[tr. Whinfield (1882), #223]

Child of four elements and sevenfold heaven,
Who fume and sweat because of these eleven,
Drink! I have told you seventy times and seven,
Once gone, nor hell will send you back, nor heaven.
[tr. Whinfield (1883), # 431]

Sprung from the Four, and the Seven! I see that never
The four and the Seven respond to thy brain's endeavour --
Drink wine! for I tell thee, four times o'er and more,
Return there is none! -- Once gone, thou art gone for ever!
[tr. M. K. (1888)]

Lip to lip with the jar you know not what is intended
That is to say my lip also was like your lips (employed)
In the end since existence is no longer available
Your lips should be thus employed according to the friendly order.
[tr. Heron-Allen (1897), Calcutta # 227]

In great desire I pressed my lips to the lip of the jar,
To inquire from it how long life might be attained;
It joined its lip to mine and whispered: --
"Drink wine, for, to this world, thou returnest not."
[tr. Heron-Allen (1898), # 100]

With strong desire my lips the cup's lip sought
From it the cause of weary life to learn.
Its lip pressed my lips close and whisperèd: --
"Drink, in this world no moment can return."
[tr. Cadell (1899), # 110]

I prest my lip in yearning to the urn.
Thereby the means of length of life to learn.
And lip to my lip placed it whispered low,
"Drink! For to this world you will ne'er return!"
[tr. Thompson (1906), # 320]

To the jar's mouth my eager lip I press'd,
For Life's Elixir making anxious quest;
It join'd its lip to mine, and whisper'd low --
"Drink wine: thou shalt not wake from thy last rest!"
[tr. Talbot (1908), # 100]

I laid my lip to the lip of the wine-cup in the utmost
desire to seek from it the means of prolonging life.
It laid its lip to my lip and said mysteriously: "During
a whole life I was like thee; rejoice for a while in my company."
[tr. Christensen (1927), # 65]

I placed my lip on the lip of the jug and caught from it
The means of attaining a long life.
The jug then seemed to say to me:
"For a lifetime I have been as you; now, for a while, be my companion."
[tr. Rosen (1928), # 177]

My lip to lip of Jar I close in glee,
In hopes that life eternal I would see;
Then quoth the Jar: Like thee I once have been
For ages, hence a minute breathe with me."
[tr. Tirtha (1941), # 5.29]

Greedily to the bowl my lips I pressed
and asked how might I sue for green old age.
Pressing its lips to mine it muttered darkly:
"Drink up! Once gone, you shall return no more!"
[tr. Graves & Ali-Shah (1967), # 36]

I laid my lip against the pitcher's lip in the extremity of desire, that I might seek from it the means of long life: it laid (its) lip upon my lip and said secretly, "I too was (once) like thee: consort with me for a moment."
[tr. Bowen (1976), # 19, after Heron-Allen]

I pressed my lip upon the Winejar's lip,
And questioned how long life I might attain;
Then lip to lip it whispering replied:
"Drink wine -- this world thou shalt not see again."
[tr. Bowen (1976), # 19]

In the extremity of desire I put my lip to the pot's
To seek the elixir of life:
It put its lip on mine and murmured,
"Enjoy the wine, you'll not be here again."
[tr. Avery/Heath-Stubbs (1979), # 139]

I brought the cup to my lips with greed
Begging for longevity, my temporal need
Cup brought its to mine, its secret did feed
Time never returns, drink, of this take heed.
[tr. Shahriari (1998), literal]

The only secret that you need to know
The passage of time is a one way flow
If you understand, joyously you’ll grow
Else you will drown in your own sorrow.
[tr. Shahriari (1998), figurative]

Yon rolling heavens, at which we gaze bewildered,
Are but the image of a magic lanthorn;
The sun is the candle, the world the shade,
And we the images which flit therein.
[tr. Cowell (1858), # 28]

We are no other than a moving row
Of visionary Shapes that come and go
Round with this Sun-illumin'd Lantern held
In Midnight by the Master of the Show.
[tr. FitzGerald, 2nd Ed (1868), # 73]

We are no other than a moving row
Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go
Round with the Sun-illumin'd Lantern held
In Midnight by the Master of the Show.
[tr. FitzGerald, 3rd ed. (1872), # 68; and subsequent eds.]

This vault of heaven under which we move in a vain shadow, may be likened unto a lantern; the sun is the focus, and we, like the figures, live there in amazement.
[tr. McCarthy (1879), # 230]

These circling heavens, which make us so dismayed,
I liken to a lamp's revolving shade,
The sun the candlestick, the earth the shade,
And men the trembling forms thereon portrayed.
[tr. Whinfield (1882), # 165]

This wheel of heaven, which makes us all afraid,
I liken to a lamp's revolving shade,
The sun the candlestick, the earth the shade,
And men the trembling forms thereon portrayed.
[tr. Whinfield (1883), # 310]

A Turning Magic Lantern show this World,
Around the Sun as Candle swiftly whirled,
While mortals are but Phantom Figures traced
Upon the Shade, forever Onward hurled.
[tr. Garner (1887), 9.4]

This vault of Heaven at which we gaze astounded,
May by a painted lantern be expounded:
The light's the Sun, the lantern is the World,
And We the figures whirling dazed around it!
[tr. M. K. (1888)]

This vault of heaven, beneath which we stand bewildered,
we know to be a sort of magic. lantern:
know thou that the sun is the lamp flame and the universe is the lamp,
we are like figures that revolve in it.
[tr. Heron-Allen (1898), # 108]

This heavenly dome, where we distracted dwell,
Is likest to a magic lantern made;
The sun the candle and the world the screen,
And we the images that flit and fade.
[tr. Cadell (1899), # 125]

Passionate particles of dust and sun,
Run your brief race, nor ask why it is run --
⁠We are but shadow-pictures, voices, dreams;
Perchance they make and break us -- just for fun.
[tr. Le Gallienne (1902)]

This wheel of Heaven which we amazed discern.
Is like a Chinese lantern, as we learn;
The Sun the lamp, the World the lantern is.
And we like figures are that on it turn.
[tr. Thompson (1906), # 353]

This vault of Heaven, 'neath which like fools we sit,
Is but a magic-lantern, dimly lit:
The sun the flame, the Universe the lamp,
We are the figures that revolve in it.
[tr. Talbot (1908), # 108]

This revolving sphere in which we stand bewildered
Is like unto a Chinese lantern,
The sun, its lamp and its shade the world,
We, the figures moving within it.
[tr. Rosen (1928), # 207]

Methinks this Wheel at which we gape and stare,
Is Chinese lantern -- like we buy at fair;
The lamp is Sun, and paper-shade the world,
And we the pictures whirling unaware.
[tr. Tirtha (1941), # 2.5]

This vault underneath which we lie bemused
Is, so to speak, God's magic shadow show
With sun for lamp, the world as a wide screen
For countless lie-rehearsing silhouettes.
[tr. Graves & Ali-Shah (1967)]

This Universal wheel, this merry-go-round
In our imagination we have found
The sun a flame, in the Cosmic lantern bound
We are mere ghosts, revolving, the flame surround.
[tr. Shahriari (1998), literal]

In our imagination, the Cosmic Wheel
Will cause us pain and cause us heal,
We find our source give life and steal,
We are phantoms that think and feel.
[tr. Shahriari (1998), figurative]

If but the Vine and Love-abjuring Band
Are in the Prophet's Paradise to stand,
Alack, I doubt the Prophet's Paradise
Were empty as the hollow of one's hand.
[tr. FitzGerald, 2nd Ed (1868), # 65; this does not appear in other editions before or after]

Folk say that there is a hell. This is a vain error, in which no trust should be placed, for if there were a hell for lovers and for bibbers of wine, why heaven would be, from to-morrow morn, as empty as the hollow of my hand.
[tr. McCarthy (1879), # 131]

If wine be an unpardonable sin,
God help Khayyam and his wine-bibbing kin!
If all poor drouthy souls be lodged elsewhere,
Heaven's plains must be as bare as maiden's chin.
[tr. Whinfield (1882), # 33]

Drunkards are doomed to hell, so men declare,
Believe it not, 'tis but a foolish scare;
Heaven will be empty as this hand of mine,
If none who love good drink find entrance there.
[tr. Whinfield (1883), # 67]

To drain the cup, to hover round the fair,
Can hypocritic arts with these compare?
If all who love and drink are going wrong,
There's many a wight of heaven may well despair!
[tr. Winfield (1883), #381]

With Tales of future pains men threaten me,
They say there is a Hell in store for thee; --
Love, if there is a Hell for all like us,
Their Heaven as empty as my Palm will be.
[tr. Garner (1887), 1.19]

To drink wine and consort with a company of the beautiful
is better than practising the hypocrisy of the zealot;
if the lover and the drunkard are doomed to hell,
then no one will see the face of heaven.
[tr. Heron-Allen (1898), # 127]

Better to drink, with fair maids wander free.
Than in deceit to practice piety;
If sots and lovers all in Hell will be.
Then who would wish the face of Heaven to see?
[tr. Thompson (1906), # 425]

Tis better here with Love and Wine to sit
Than to become the zealous hypocrite;
If all who love or drink are doom'd to Hell,
On whom shall Heaven bestow a benefit?
[tr. Talbot (1908), # 127]

Drinking wine and wooing fair ones
Is a better thing than the hypocrisy of fanatics.
If all who drink wine were to go to Hell
No one would then behold Paradise.
[tr. Rosen (1928), # 256]

Better to drink and dance with rosy fairs,
Than cheat the folk with doubtful pious wares;
Tho' drunkards, so they say, are doomed to hell,
To go to heaven with cheats who ever cares?
[tr. Tirtha (1941), # 10.88]

They say lovers and drunkards go to hell,
A controversial dictum not easy to accept:
If the lover and drunkard are for hell,
Tomorrow Paradise will be empty.
[tr. Avery/Heath-Stubbs (1979), # 87]

Yon rolling heaven for our destruction, yours and mine,
Aims its stroke at our lives, yours and mine;
Come, live, sit on the grass - it will not be long
Ere grass grows out of our dust, yours and mine.
[tr. Cowell (1858), # 3]

This wheel of heaven seeks my destruction and thine, it plots against my soul and thine. Come, seat thyself upon the grass, for in a little while fresh grass will spring from this dust of mine and thine.
[tr. McCarthy (1879), # 358]

The wheel of heaven still holds his set design
To take away thy life, O love and mine,
Sit we on this green turf, 'twill not be long
Ere turf will hide my dust along with thine
[tr. Whinfield (1882), # 205]

O Love, for ever doth heaven's wheel design
To take away thy precious life, and mine;
Sit we upon this turf, 't will not be long
Ere turf shall grow upon my dust, and thine!
[tr. Whinfield (1883), # 390]

The "wheel of heaven" in its Fatal Play
Will soon our Breath of Being steal away, --
Come rest thee on this bank, for from our dust
Will spring the Vedure at no distant day.
[tr. Garner (1887), 3.3]

The wheel of Heaven thy death and mine is bringing, friend!
Over our lives the cloud of doom 't is flinging, friend!
Come, sit upon this turf, for little time is left
Ere fresher turf shall from our dust be springing, friend!
[tr. M. K. (1888)]

Beautiful wheel of blue above my head,
Will you be turning still when I am dead?
Were you still turning long before I came? --
O bitter thought to take with me to bed.
[tr. Le Gallienne (1897), # 54]

The heavenly vault, for the sake of my destruction and thine,
wages war upon my pure sole and thine;
Sit upon the green sward, O my Idol! for it will not be long
ere that green sward shall grow from my dust and thine.
[tr. Heron-Allen (1898), # 129]

Against our dear lives holding its design,
This wheel of Heaven doth plot thy death and mine;
Come sit upon this grass, 'twill not be long
Ere verdure springs up from my dust and thine.
[tr. Thompson (1906), # 442]

The Heavens, that they may destroy us both,
On our pure souls to war are nothing loth;
Sit down, my Idol, on the grass, for soon
My dust and thine shall aid its vernal growth.
[tr. Talbot (1908), # 129]

This wheel of Heaven, for the sake of my destruction
and thine, has designs upon my pure soul and thine.
Sit down on the grass, o idol, for it will not be long
ere grass shall spring from my dust and thine.
[tr. Christensen (1927), # 35]

This Wheel of the Spheres revolves for your annihilation and for mine,
It has evil intentions on your pure soul and on mine.
Rest on the meadow, my Iove, for not much time will pass.
Until grass springs from your dust and from mine.
[tr. Rosen (1928), # 262]

This Wheel of time effaces me and thee,
To slaughter us it chases me and thee;
Sit on the lawn and love, for time arrives
When lawn would hide our traces, me and thee.
[tr. Tirtha (1941), # 2.53]

Allow no shadow of regret to cloud you,
No absurd grief to overcast your days.
Never renounce love-songs, or lawns, or kisses
Until your clay lies mixed with elder clay.
[tr. Graves & Ali-Shah (1967), # 24]

This wheel of heaven, in order to destroy me and thee, has fell purpose against my innocent soul and thine: sit on the grass, and drink wine, and be happy, for this grass shall spring from my dust and thine.
[tr. Bowen (1976), # 14]

The wheel of Fate is crooked. It destroys
Such innocent young souls as yours and mine:
So, joyously, sit down upon the grass
And while away this hour in drinking wine.
Alas! the herbage which delights our eyes,
On which you now recline your lovely head,
Is rooted in the dust of loves -- and
Will spring from ours one day when we are dead.
[alt. tr. Bowen (1976), # 14]

Don’t permit sorrow to be your friend
Sadness and pain become your trend
Don’t let the book or the farm you tend
Rule your life before to earth you descend.
[tr. Shahriari (1998), literal]

Before to dust you shall return
There is one thing that you must learn
Sorrow and pain your soul shall burn
Joy and bliss to light shall turn.
[tr. Shahriari (1998), figurative]

And look -- a thousand Blossoms with the Day
Woke -- and a thousand scatter'd into Clay
[tr. FitzGerald, 1st ed. (1859), # 8]

Morning a thousand Roses brings, you say;
Yes, but where leaves the Rose of yesterday?
[tr. FitzGerald, 2nd Ed (1868), # 9]

Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say:
Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?
[tr. FitzGerald, 3rd ed. (1872), # 9; same in later editions]

Sit in the shade of the rose, for many times this rose from earth has come, and unto earth has gone.
[tr. McCarthy (1879), # 463]

Sit we beneath this rose, which many a time
Has sunk to earth, and sprung from earth again.
[tr. Whinfield (1883), # 414]

Sit in the shade of the rose, for, by the wind, many roses
have been scattered to earth and have become dust.
[tr. Heron-Allen (1898), # 135]

Sit we 'neath this rose shade, for many a rose
Wind strewn in earth has turned to earth again!
[tr. Thompson (1906), # 522]

Sit in her fragrant bower, for oft the wind
Hath strewn and turn'd to dust such flowers as these.
[tr. Talbot (1908), # 135]

Rest in the shadow of the rose, for many of its leaves will the rose
Shed on the earth while we lie under the earth.
[tr. Rosen (1928), # 270]

Stay, Dearest One! beneath the rosy shade,
The roses bloom for Thee but soon would blight.
[tr. Tirtha (1941), # 3.7]

Rest in the rose's shade, though winds have burst
A world of blossoml petals fall to dust --
[tr. Graves & Ali-Shah (1967), # 74, ll. 1-2]

Sit in the rose's shadow, for oftentimes this rose shall spill upon the dust, when we are dust.
[tr. Bowen (1976), # 5a]

The Rosetree spills her petals in the dust,
And nothing of her fragrant harvest saves;
And yet this Rose, a plaything of the breeze,
Will bloom each year when we are in our graves.
[tr. Bowen (1976), # 5b]

Oh Thou who didst with Pitfall and with Gin
Beset the Road I was to wander in,
Thou wilt not with Predestination round
Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin?
[tr. FitzGerald, 1st ed. (1859), # 57]

Oh Thou, who didst with pitfall and with gin
Beset the Road I was to wander in,
Thou wilt not with Predestin'd Evil round
Enmesh, and then impute my Fall to Sin?
[tr. FitzGerald, 2nd ed. (1868), # 87]

Oh Thou, who didst with pitfall and with gin
Beset the Road I was to wander in,
Thou wilt not with Predestin'd Evil round
Enmesh, and then impute my Fall to Sin!
[tr. FitzGerald, 3rd ed. (1872), # 80; 4th ed. (1879); 5th ed. (1889)]

Thou settest snares around us manifold, and sayest, "Death to ye, if ye enter therein." Thou layest the lures Thyself, and then givest over Thy victim to doom.
[tr. McCarthy (1879), # 296]

Thou dost with frequent snare beset the way
The pilgrim's wandering footsteps to betray,
And all poor wretches tangled in thy snares
Dost seize as prisoners and as rebels slay.
[tr. Winfield (1882), # 224]

With many a snare Thou dost beset my way,
And threatenest, if I fall therein, to slay;
Thy rule resistless sways the world, yet Thou
Imputest sin, when I do but obey!
[tr. Whinfield (1883), # 243 or 432]

Thou hast prepared a Way with many a Snare,
And set with many a Prize to lure us there,
And still, Oh God, 'tis said, Thou wilt not spare,
The Man whose Foot-steps stumble unaware.
[tr. Garner (1887), 2.3]

Thou hast prepared a way with many a snare
And decked with many a prize to lure us there.
And yet. Oh, God, 'tis said Thou wilt not spare
The man whose footsteps stumble unaware.
[tr. Garner (1898), # 87]

An hundred thousand snares my path within Thou settest
And "Thee," quoth Thou, "I'll slay, if foot therein thou settest."
'Tis Thou that sett'st the snares; and whoso in them falleth
Thou slay'st and on his name the brand of sin Thou settest!
[tr. Payne (1898), # 822]

In a thousand places on the road I walk, Thou placest snares,
Thou sayest, "I will catch thee if thou placest step in them";
in no smallest thing is the world independent of Thee,
Thou orderest all things, and callest me rebellious.
[tr. Heron-Allen (1898), # 148]

A thousand snares Thou settest in my way,
And threatenest if I step therein to slay;
Thou mak'st Thy law and me dost rebel call,
Though nowise is the world free from Thy sway!
[tr. Thompson (1906), # 539]

In every step I take Thou sett'st a snare,
Saying, "Thus will I entrap thee, so beware!"
And, while all things are under Thy command,
That I a rebel am Thou dost declare.
[tr. Talbot (1908), # 148]

You lay your snares around our ear and eye,
And warn us not to step in, lest we die;
Thus snares you lay, if therein one but strays,
You catch and kill him saying "Sinner fie!"
[tr. Tirtha (1941), # 11.9]

On every path I take, Your snares are spread
To entrap me, should I walk without due care.
Utter extremes acknowledge Your vast sway.
You order all things -- yet You call me rebel?
[tr. Graves & Ali-Shah (1967), # 85]

O Life, you put many traps in my way
Dare to try, is what you clearly say
All that is, thy command must obey
You lead me away and call me astray.
[tr. Shahriari (1998)]

Some ruby wine and a diwan of poems,
A crust of bread to keep the breath in one's body,
And thou and I alone in a desert, --
Were a lot beyond a Sultan's throne.
[tr. Cowell (1858), # 13]

Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse -- and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness --
And Wilderness is Paradise enow.
[tr. FitzGerald, 1st ed. (1859), # 11]

Here with a little Bread beneath the Bough,
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse -- and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness --
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!
[tr. FitzGerald, 2nd Ed (1868), # 12]

In Spring time I love to sit in the meadow with a paramour perfect as a Houri and goodly jar of wine, and though I may be blamed for this, yet hold me lower than a dog if ever I dream of Paradise.
[tr. McCarthy (1888), # 177]

When the hand possesses a loaf of wheaten bread, two measures of wine, and a piece of flesh, when seated with tulip-cheeks in some lonely spot, behold such joy as is not given to all sultans.
[tr. McCarthy (1888), # 398]

Give me a flagon of red wine, a book of verses, a loaf of bread and a little idleness. If with such store I might sit by thy dear side in some lonely place, I should deem myself happier than a king in his kingdom.
[tr. McCarthy (1888), #449]

In the sweet spring a grassy bank I sought
And thither wine and a fair Houri brought;
And, though the people called me graceless dog,
Gave not to Paradise another thought!
[tr. Whinfield (1883), # 84]

Give me a skin of wine, a crust of bread,
A pittance bare, a book of verse to read;
With thee, love, to share my lowly roof,
I would not take the Sultan's realm instead!
[tr. Whinfield (1883), # 452]

A Flask of Wine, a book, a Loaf of Bread, --
To every Care and Worldly Sorrow dead,
I covet not, when thou, oh Love, art near,
The Jeweled Crown upon the Sultan's Head.
[tr. Garner, 1.8 (1888)]

Yes, Loved One, when the Laughing Spring is blowing,
With Thee beside me and the Cup o’erflowing,
I pass the day upon this Waving Meadow,
And dream the while, no thought on Heaven bestowing.
[tr. Garner, 1.20 (1888)]

A flask of red wine, and a volume of song, together --
Half a loaf, -- just enough the ravage of Want to tether:
Such is my wish -- then, thou in the waste with me --
Oh! sweeter were this than a monarch's crown and feather!
[tr. M. K. (1888)]

In the Springtime, biding with one who is houri-fair,
And a flask of wine, if 't is to be had -- somewhere
On the tillage's grassy skirt -- Alack ! though most
May think it a sin, I feel that my heaven is there!
[tr. M. K. (1888)]

A book, a woman, and a flask of wine:
The three make heaven for me; it may be thine
⁠Is some sour place of singing cold and bare --
But then, I never said thy heaven was mine.
[tr. Le Gallienne (1897)]

A book, a flask of wine, a crust of bread,
To every care and worldly sorrow dead,
I covet not when thou, oh, Love, art near,
The jeweled turban on the sultan's head.
[tr. Garner (1898), # 8]

A gugglet of wine and a book of poesy,
The haf of a loaf of bread and a penny fee,
And I in a nook of some ruin seated with thee,
Were better than king on a kingdom's throne to be.
[tr. Payne (1898), # 829]

I desire a little ruby wine and a book of verses,
Just enough to keep me alive, and half a loaf is needful;
And then, that I and thou should sit in a desolate place
Is better than the kingdom of a sultan.
[tr. Heron-Allen (1898), # 149]

If a loaf of wheaten-bread be forthcoming,
a gourd of wine, and a thigh-bone of mutton, and then,
if thou and I be sitting in the wilderness, --
that would be a joy to which no sultan can set bounds.
[tr. Heron-Allen (1898), # 155]

A book of verses underneath the vine,
A loaf of bread, a jug of ruby wine,
And thou beside me, resting in the wild,
Would make the dreary wilderness divine!
[tr. Roe (1906), # 25]

A skin of red wine, book of poesy.
Bread, a half loaf, enough for life give me.
Then sitting in some solitude with thee
Were sweeter than the Sultan's empery!
[tr. Thompson (1906), # 560]

If bread you have made from the grain of wheat,
Two maunds of wine, a mutton joint for meat,
In some nook sitting with fair Tulip-cheeks,
Not every Sultan hath such joy complete!
[tr. Thompson (1906), # 586]

Give me a scroll of verse, a little wine,
With half a loaf to fill thy needs and mine,
And with the desert sand our resting place,
For ne'er a Sultan's kingdom would we pine.
[tr. Talbot (1908), # 149]

Let Fortune but provide me bread of wheat,
A gourd of wine, a bone of mutton sweet,
Then in the desert if we twain might sit,
Joys such as ours no Sultan could defeat.
[tr. Talbot (1908), # 155]

If we get but a loaf of wheaten-bread, a gourd of wine
and a leg of mutton.
and if I and thou be sitting in the wilderness, that
were a treat beyond the powers of most sultans.
[tr. Christensen (1927), # 28]

If you have a loaf made from the marrow of wheat,
Of wine two gallons and of lamb a joint,
And if you are sitting in the wilderness with one whose face is beautiful like the moon.
That would be bliss not attainable by a Sultan.
[tr. Rosen (1928), # 320]

If one could find a loaf of grinded wheat,
And with a gourd of wine and chop of meat
Retires to ruined haunts with Beloved One,
What king can hope to find such joyous treat?
[tr. Tirtha (1941), # 7.131]

The Word suffices and a book of songs,
A crumb will fill this what to earth belongs;
In solitude when I would pore on Tee,
I care no kingdoms, neither thrones nor throngs.
[tr. Tirtha (1941), # 8.131]

Should our day's portion be one mancel loaf,
A haunch of mutton and a gourd of wine
Set for us two alone on the wide plain,
No Sultan's bounty could evoke such joy.
 
A gourd of red wine and a sheaf of poems --
A bare subsistence, half a loaf, not more --
Supplied us two alone in the free desert:
What Sultan could we envy on his throne?
[tr. Graves & Ali-Shah (1967), # 11-12]

If one may have a loaf of the flower of wheat, a two-maund (jar) of wine, a thigh of mutton, seated with a heart's darling in a ruined place -- that is a pleasure that is not the attainment of any sultan.
[tr. Bowen (1976), # 12a]

If we were seated in a desert place,
Where I alone might gaze upon your face,
These simple victuals would our needs suffice:
A thigh of mutton in a dish of rice;
A loaf of bread of finest wheaten flour;
A flagon tall from which cool wine to pour ...
There, in the day's long leisurely decline,
No Sultan's pleasures could compare with mine.
[tr. Bowen (1976), # 12b]

I need a jug of wine and a book of poetry,
Half a loaf for a bite to eat,
Then you and I, seated in a deserted spot,
Will have more wealth than a Sultan's realm.
[tr. Avery/Heath-Stubbs (1979), # 98]

If chance supplied a loaf of white bread,
Two casks of wine and a leg of mutton,
In the corner of a garden with a tulip-cheeked girl,
There'd be enjoyment no Sultan could outdo.
[tr. Avery/Heath-Stubbs (1979), # 234]

In spring if a houri-like sweetheart
Gives me a cup of wine on the edge of a green cornfield,
Though to the vulgar this would be blasphemy,
If I mentioned any other Paradise, I'd be worse than a dog.
[tr. Ememai (1988), # 160]

Ah, would there were a loaf of bread as fare,
A joint of lamb, a jug of vintage rare,
And you and I in wilderness encamped --
No Sultan's pleasure could with ours compare.
[tr. Saldi (1991), # 16]

What! out of senseless Nothing to provoke
A conscious Something to resent the yoke
Of unpermitted Pleasure, under pain
Of Everlasting Penalties, if broke!
[tr. FitzGerald, 2nd ed. (1868), # 84; # 78 for 3rd, 4th, and 5th editions]

When God built up my body out of clay, he knew beforehand the fruit of all my deeds. It is not in defiance of his will that I a sinner have sinned. Why then for me does nether hell await?
[tr. McCarthy (1879), # 112]

When Allah mixed my clay, He knew full well
My future acts, and could each one foretell;
'Twas he who did my sins predestinate,
Yet thinks it just to punish me in hell.
[tr. Whinfield (1882), # 46]

'Twas Allah who engraved upon my Clay
The Laws I was thereafter to obey,
And will He cast me into Raging Fire,
Because my Actions answer to His Sway?
[tr. Garner (1887), 4.5]

Almighty Potter, on whose wheel of blue
The world is fashioned and is broken too,
Why to the race of men is heaven so dire?
In what, O wheel, have I offended you?
[tr. Le Gallienne (1897)]

God, when He mixed and moulded our being's clay,
Had e'en foreknowledge of all we should do and say;
Without His order no sin of mine was aye;
Then why should He doom me to burn on the Judgment Day?
[tr. Payne (1898), # 190]

God, when he fashioned the clay of my body
Knew by my making what would come from it
(Since) there is no sin of mine without his knowledge
Why should he seek to burn me at the day of resurrection?
[tr. Heron-Allen (1897), "# 26=85" Calcutta]

God, when he fashioned the clay of my body,
Knew by my making what would come of it;
(Since) there is no sin of mine without his order
Why should he seek to burn me at the Day of Resurrection?
[tr. Heron-Allen (1899), #78a, Calcutta]

When God of our existence shaped the clay.
He knew our actions would be as His sway;
Without His mandate was no sin of mine,
Then why doom me to burn on Judgment Day?
[tr. Thompson (1906), # 148]

When, bending low, God moulded me from clay,
Incontrovertibly my life was ordered:
Without his order I abstain from crime.
Why should I burn, then, on His Judgement Day?
[tr. Graves & Ali-Shah (1967), # 82]