13 Some for the Glories of This World;
Sigh for the Prophet’s Paradise to come; Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go, Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum! 14 Look to the blowing Rose about us–Lo, Laughing, she says, into the world I blow, At once the silken tassel of my Purse Tear,
and its Treasure on the Garden throw.
15 And those who husbanded the Golden grain, And those who flung it to the winds like Rain, Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn’d As, buried once, Men want dug up again. 16 The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon Turns Ashes –or it prospers; and anon, Like Snow upon the Desert’s dusty Face, Lighting a little hour or two–is gone.
– Omar Khayyam