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“Wake! For the Sun, who scatter'd into flight / The Stars before him from the Field of Night, / Drives Night along with them from Heav'n, and strikes / The Sultan's Turret with a Shaft of Light.”

“Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring / Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling: / The Bird of Time has but a little way / To flutter — and the Bird is on the Wing.”

“Whether at Naishapur or Babylon, / Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run, / The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop, / The Leaves of Life keep falling one by one.”

“Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say; / Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?”

“A Book of Verses underneath the Bough, / A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread — and Thou / Beside me singing in the Wilderness — / Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!”

“Earth could not answer; nor the Seas that mourn / In flowing Purple, their Lord forlorn; / Nor rolling Heaven, with all his Signs reveal’d / And hidden by the sleeve of Night and Morn.”

“Some for the Glories of This World; and some / Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come; / Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go, / Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!”

“The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon / Turns Ashes — or it prospers; and anon, / Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face, / Lighting a little hour or two — is gone.”

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

“Oh, threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise! / One thing at least is certain — This Life flies; / One thing is certain and the rest is Lies; / The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.”

“Heav'n but the Vision of fulfill'd Desire, / And Hell the Shadow from a Soul on fire, / Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves, / So late emerged from, shall so soon expire.”

“We are no other than a moving row / Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go.”