Què en diuen els usuaris - Escriviu una ressenya
No hem trobat cap ressenya als llocs habituals.
Altres edicions - Mostra-ho tot
according appeared asking better blows Bough Bowl Brother buried Calcutta called Clay close contains Copy cries Darkness desire Divinity Door drink Dust Earth Edition Face Fate Fears Figures fling Friend Garden gone Grape hand Head heard Heart Heav'n Hope Hour Images King Lark lean leave LIBRARY Light Line live Look Love MICHIGAN Mons Moon Morning moves Mysticism Naishápúr never Nicolas Night Omar Khayyam Omar's once Oriental original Paradise passing perhaps Persian Poems Poet Potter prepare present Quatrain readers rest rising Rose round Rubaiyát says Shape Song Soul Spring Stanzas Story strikes Súfi Sultán sweet taste Tavern tell Thee thing Thou thousand TO-DAY To-morrow Translated True Turns Universe Verse Vessel Vine Water whence White Wilderness Wind Wine wonder World written
Pàgina 112 - Hath not the potter power over the clay, of the same lump to make one vessel unto honour, and another unto dishonour?
Pàgina 83 - I sometimes think that never blows so red The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled; That every Hyacinth the Garden wears Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head.
Pàgina 84 - Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend, Before we too into the Dust descend: Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie, Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and — sans End!
Pàgina 64 - The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.
Pàgina 85 - Myself when young did eagerly frequent Doctor and Saint, and heard great argument About it and about : but evermore Came out by the same door where in I went...
Pàgina 58 - Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuit Of This and That endeavor and dispute; Better be jocund with the fruitful Grape Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.
Pàgina 48 - And we, that now make merry in the Room They left, and Summer dresses in new bloom, Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth Descend — ourselves to make a Couch — for whom?
Pàgina 87 - Up from Earth's Centre through the Seventh Gate I rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate, And many a Knot unravel'd by the Road; But not the Master-knot of Human Fate.