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 a TO-MORROW stare,

        A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries

        "Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There!"


        Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd

        Of the Two Worlds so learnedly, are thrust

        Like foolish Prophets forth; their Words to Scorn

        Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.



        Oh, come with old Khayyam, and leave the Wise

        To talk; one thing is certain, that Life flies;

        One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies;

        The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.



        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 as in I went.

                        

Omar Khayyam (1048-1122)