The drop of water began to weep on being separated
from the ocean. The ocean began to laugh, saying to
it: It is we who are all; in truth, there is no other God
beside us, and if we are separated, it is only by a simple
point almost invisible.
How long shall I trouble myself with the care of knowing
whether I possess or do not possess—if I ought or
ought not to pass life gaily? Fill ever the cup of wine,
O cupbearer! for I do not know whether I shall breathe
out this breath that I am actually breathing or not.
Become not a prey to sorrow in this world of iniquity;
recall not to thy soul the memory of those who are no
longer here; give up thy heart only to a friend with sweet
lips and fairy-like in form and never be deprived of
wine, or throw life to the winds.
How long will you speak to me of the mosque, of
prayer and fasting? Go rather to the tavern and intoxicate
yourself, and even for that ask alms. O Khayyam!
drink wine, drink; for this earth of which thou
art composed will be made into cups, bowls, and pitchers.
So in this palace of brief being, you ought, O wise man,
to give yourself up to rose-colored wine. Then each
atom of your dust that the wind carries away will fall
on the sill of the tavern, all saturate with wine.