The Golfer's Rubáiyát

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H.S. Stone & Company, 1901 - 83 pàgines
 

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Pàgina xxiv - 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! Alike for those who for TO-DAY prepare, And those that after some TO-MORROW stare, A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries, " Fools ! your Reward is neither Here nor There.
Pàgina xxviii - With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow, And with mine own hand wrought to make it grow ; And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd — " I came like Water, and like Wind I go.
Pàgina xlvii - 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 lxxviii - Yon rising Moon that looks for us again — How oft hereafter will she wax and wane; How oft hereafter rising look for us Through this same Garden — and for one in vain!
Pàgina xvii - XVI 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 — was gone. XVII Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai Whose Portals are alternate Night and Day, How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp Abode his destin'd Hour, and went his way. XVIII They say the Lion and the Lizard keep The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep: And Bahram, that great Hunter — the Wild Ass Stamps o'er his Head, but...
Pàgina xl - A Hair perhaps divides the False and True Yes ; and a single Alif were the clue — Could you but find it — to the Treasure-house, And peradventure to THE MASTER too...
Pàgina lxxix - ... High — By which the Duffer thinks to live or die, Lift not your hands to IT for help, for it As impotently froths as you or I. Yon rising Moon that leads us Home again, How oft hereafter will she wax and wane; How oft hereafter rising wait for us At this same Turning — and for One in vain. And when, like her, my Golfer, I have been And am no more above the pleasant Green, And you in your mild Journey pass the Hole I made in One — ah ! pay my Forfeit then ! MR. DOOLEY ON REFORM CANDIDATES...
Pàgina xii - ... your wooden Putter fling; The Club of Time has but a little while To waggle, and the Club is on the swing. Whether at Musselburgh or Shinnecock, In motley Hose or humbler motley Sock, The Cup of Life is ebbing Drop by Drop, Whether the Cup be filled with Scotch or Bock. A Bag of Clubs, a Silver-Town or two, A Flask of Scotch, a Pipe of Shag — and Thou Beside me caddying in the Wilderness — Ah, Wilderness were Paradise enow.

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