By Omar Khayyám
There was the door to which I found no Key,
There was the veil through which I might not see.
Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee,
There was - and then no more of Thee and Me.
Earth could not answer; nor the seas that mourn,
In flowing purple, of their Lord forlorn.
Nor rolling heaven, with all his signs reveal'd,
And hidden by the sleeve of night and morn.
Then of the Thee in Me works behind,
The veil, I lifted up my hands to find,
A lamp amid the darkness; and I heard,
As from without - "The Me within Thee blind!"
Then to the lip of this poor earthen urn,
I lean'd, the secret of my life to learn:
And lip to lip it murmur'd: "While you live,
Drink! For, once dead, you never shall return."
I think the vessel, that with fugitive,
Articulation answer'd, once did live,
And drink; and Ah! the passive lip I kiss'd,
How many kiisses might it take, and give!
[Painter: Fabio Fabbi, Italian (1900s -)]