Omar Khayyam, tr. by Edward Henry Whinfield, The Sacred Books and Early Literature of the East (1917)
“ O you who tremble not at fires of hell, Nor wash in water of remorse's well, When winds of death shall quench your vital torch, Beware lest earth your guilty dust expel. 297 This world a hollow pageant you should deem; All wise men know things are not what they seem; Be of good cheer, and drink, and so shake off This vain illusion of a baseless dream. 298 With maids stately as cypresses, and fair As roses newly plucked, your wine-cups share, Or e'er Death's blasts shall rend your robe of fiesh Like yonder rose-leaves, lying scattered there! ”
