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OMAR KHAYYÁM OF NAISHÁPÚR.
15
LXVII.
And wash my Body whence the Life has died,
And in a Windingsheet of Vine-leaf wrapt,
So bury me by some sweet Garden-side.
LXVIII.
Of Perfume shall fling up into the Air,
As not a True Believer passing by
But shall be overtaken unaware.
LXIX.
Have done my Credit in Men's Eye much wrong:
Have drown'd my Honour in a shallow Cup,
And sold my Reputation for a Song.
LXX.
I swore—but was I sober when I swore?
And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand
My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore.
LXXI.
And robb'd me of my Robe of Honour—well,
I often wonder what the Vintners buy
One half so precious as the Goods they sell.