So turn to old Khayyam and from his cup
Allow yourself to sup while time remains;
Now sip the wine, take bread and verses up,
Drink deep of love till Time Time’s servants claims.
Remember that the couch on which you sit
Is soon to seat new tenants in your stead.
Neglect not what one whit improves life’s wit,
Exclude naught unwrought you’ll regret when sped.
Verse vehicles the message, bread sustains,
And wine enhances till it summons sleep: -
If three in one combine, contentment reigns,
Love flourishes, then nourishes, none weep.
Like old Fitzgerald, this speeds to the press,
ANd To distress aims not, nor to impress.
28 October 1992
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem