O friend, for the morrow let us not worry
This moment we have now, let us not hurry
When our time comes, we shall not tarry
With seven thousand-year-olds, our burden carry.
O hark, let us not think of the morrow
Cherish this moment, far from sorrow
Life is a temporal gift that we borrow
Whether dead for ages, or leave tomorrow.
Ah! my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears
To-day of past Regrets and future Fears
To-morrow?–Why, To-morrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday’s Sev’n Thousand Years.
In childhood we strove to go to school,
Our turn to teach, joyous as a rule
The end of the story is sad and cruel
From dust we came, and gone with winds cool.
Pursuing knowledge in childhood we rise
Until we become masterful and wise
But if we look through the disguise
We see the ties of worldly lies.
Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Doctor and Saint, and heard great Argument
About it and about: but evermore
Came out by the same Door as in I went.
– Omar Khayyam