Omar Khayyam

And this I know: whether the one True Light Kindle to Love, or Wrath-consume me quite, One Flash of It within the Tavern caught Better than in the Temple lost outright.

What! out of senseless Nothing to provoke A conscious Something to resent the yoke Of unpermitted Pleasure, under pain Of everlasting Penalties, if broke!

What! from his helpless Creature be repaid Pure Gold for what he lent him dross-allay'd— Sue for a Debt he never did contract, And cannot answer—Oh the sorry trade!

Oh Thou, who didst with pitfall and with gin Beset the Road I was to wander in, Thou wilt not with Predestined Evil round Enmesh, and then impute my Fall to Sin!

Oh Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make, And ev'n with Paradise devise the Snake: For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man Is blacken'd—Man's forgiveness give—and take!

Listen again. One Evening at the Close Of Ramazan, ere the better Moon arose, In that old Potter's Shop I stood alone With the clay Population round in Rows.

And, strange to tell, among that Earthen Lot Some could articulate, while others not: And suddenly one more impatient cried— 'Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?'

Then said another—'Surely not in vain My substance from the common Earth was ta'en That He who subtly wrought me into Shape Should stamp me back to common Earth again.'

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!'

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?'

Thus with the Dead as with the Living, What? And Why? so ready, but the Wherefor not, One on a sudden peevishly exclaim'd, 'Which is the Potter, pray, and which the Pot?'

Said one—'Folks of a surly Tapster tell, And daub his Visage with the Smoke of Hell; They talk of some strict Testing of us—Pish! He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well.'

Then said a Second—'Ne'er a peevish Boy Would break the Bowl from which he drank in Joy; Shall He that of His own free Fancy made The Vessel, in an after-rage destroy!'