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Fitzgerald – from the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

Listen again. One evening at the close
Of Ramazán, ere the better Moon arose,
In that old Potter's Shop, I stood alone
With the clay Population round in Rows.

And, strange to tell, among the Earthen Lot
Some could articulate, while others not :
And suddenly one more impatient cried -
"Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?"

Then said another - "Surely not in vain
My substance from the common Earth was ta'en,
That He who subtly wrought me into Shape
Should stamp me back to common Earth again."

Another said - "Why, ne'er a peevish Boy
Would break the Bowl from which he drank in Joy ;
Shall He that made the Vessel in pure Love
And Fancy, in an after Rage destroy!"

None answer'd this ; but after Silence spake
A Vessel of a more ungainly Make :
"They sneer at me for leaning all awry ;
What! Did the Hand then of the Potter shake ?"

Said one - "Folks of a surly Tapster tell,
And daub his Visage with the Smoke of Hell ;
They talk of some strict Testing of us - Pish!
He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well."

Then said another with a long-drawn Sigh
"My Clay with long oblivion is gone dry :
But, fill me with the old familiar Juice,
Methinks I might recover by-and-bye!"