Poems for Friday: "One thing is certain; and the Rest is Lies."

The following is excerpted from the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, a beautiful and haunting work that's stayed with me since I read it as a child.

XXII. 

And we, that now make merry in the Room 

They left, and Summer dresses in new Bloom, 

Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth 

Descend, ourselves to make a Couch — for whom? 

XXIII. 

Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend. 

Before we too into the Dust descend; 

Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie. 

Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and — sans End! 

XXIV. 

Alike for those Avho for To-day prepare, 

Aud those that after a To-morrow stare, 

A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries 

"Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There!” 

XXV. 

Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd 

Of the Two Worlds so learnedly, are thrust 

Like foolish Prophets forth ; their Words to Scoru 

Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust. 

XXVI. 

Oh, come with old Khayyam, and leave the Wise 

To talk; one thing is certain, that Life flies; 

One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies; 

The Flower that once has blown for ever dies. 

And for an extra treat, you lucky people, here's the late, great Dorothy Ashby doing this very passage.