Omar Khayyam

The classification of algebraic equations based on the number of terms and their powers.

Indeed, the Idols I have loved so long Have done my credit in this World much wrong: Have drown'd my Glory in a shallow Cup, And sold my Reputation for a Song.

And that inverted Bowl we call the Sky, Whereunder crawling cooped we live and die, Lift not your hands to It for help—for It As impotently moves as you or I.

The Grape that can with Logic absolute The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute: The subtle Alchemist that in a Trice Life's leaden Metal into Gold transmute.

Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuit Of This and That endeavor and dispute; Better be jocund with the fruitful Grape Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.

Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before I swore—but was I sober when I swore? And then—and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand My thread-bare Penitence a-pieces tore.

The Palace that to Heav'n his Pylons threw, And Kings the Throne of Jamshyd high to view, Where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep, and drew The Soul of Sweetness from the World—is gone.

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.

And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press, End in the Nothing all Things end in—Yes—Then fancy while Thou art, Thou art but what Thou shalt be—Nothing—Thou shalt not be less.

We are no other than a moving row Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go Round with the Sun-illumined Lantern held In Midnight by the Master of the Show.

The Bird of Time has but a little way To fly—and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.

To-day a Man of Parts, To-morrow a Man of Naught.

Drink! for you know not whence you came, nor why: Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where.

How many a Knot unravel'd by the Road; But not the Master-knot of Human Fate.

The Stars are setting, and the Caravan Starts for the Dawn of Nothing—Oh, make haste!

The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop, The Leaves of Life keep falling one by one.

Oh, 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!

Into this Universe, and why not knowing, Nor whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing: And out of it, as Wind along the Waste, I know not whither, willy-nilly blowing.

And this was all the Harvest that I reaped—'I came like Water, and like Wind I go.'

The Rubaiyat are not merely a collection of poems, but a reflection of my deepest thoughts and observations on life, death, and the universe.