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The Rubaiyat of A Persian Kitten
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| Wake! For the Golden Cat has put to flight The Mouse of Darkness with his Paw of Light: Which means, in Plain and simple every-day Unoriental Speech---The Dawn is bright. WAKE! For the Sun who scatter’d into flight The Stars before him from the Field of Night, Drives Night along with them from Heav’n, and strikes The Sultan’s Turret with a Shaft of Light. |
| They say the Early Bird the Worm shall taste. Then rise, O Kitten! Wherefore, sleeping, waste The fruits of Virtue? Quick! the Early Bird Will soon be on the flutter---O make haste! One Moment in Annihilation’s Waste, One Moment, of the Well of Life to taste--- The Stars are setting, and the Caravan Starts for the dawn of Nothing---Oh, make haste! |
| The Early Bird has gone, and with him ta’en The Early Worm---Alas! the Moral’s plain, O Senseless Worm! Thus, thus we are repaid For Early Rising---I shall doze again. 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.” |
| The Mouse makes merry ‘mid the Larder Shelves, The Bird for Dinner in the Garden delves. I often wonder what the creatures eat One half so toothsome as they are Themselves. And much as Wine has play’d the Infidel, And robb’d me of my Robe of Honour---Well, I wonder often what the Vintners buy One half so precious as the stuff they sell. |
| And that Inverted Bowl of Skyblue Delf That helpless lies upon the Pantry Shelf--- Lift not your eyes to It for help, for It Is quite as empty as you are yourself. And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky, Whereunder crawling coop’d we live and die, Lift not your hand to It for help---for It As impotently moves as you or I. |
| The Ball no question makes of Ayes or Noes, But right or left, as strikes the Kitten, goes; Yet why, altho’ I toss it far Afield, It still returneth---Goodness only knows! The Ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes, But Here or There as strikes the Player goes; And He that toss’d you down into the Field, He knows about it all---HE knows---HE knows! |
| A Secret Presence that my likeness feigns, And yet, quicksilver-like, eludes my pains--- In vain I look for Him behind the glass; He is not there, and yet He still remains. Whose secret Presence through Creation’s veins Running Quicksilver- like eludes your pains; Taking all shapes from Mah to Mahi and They change and perish all---but He remains; |
| What out of airy Nothing to invoke A senseless Something to resist the stroke Of unpermitted Paw---upon the pain Of Everlasting Penalties---if broke. What out of senseless Nothing to provoke A conscious Something to resent the yoke Of unpermitted Pleasure, under pain Of Everlasting Penalties, if broke! |
| I sometimes think the Pussy-Willows grey Are Angel Kittens who have lost their way, And every Bulrush on the river bank A Cat-Tail from some lovely Cat astray. I sometimes think that never blows so red The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled; That every Hyacinth the Garden wears Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head. |
| Sometimes I think perchance that Allah may, When he created Cats, have thrown away The Tails He marred in making, and they grew To Cat-Tails and to Pussy-Willows grey. "Why," said another, "Some there are who tell Of one who threatens he will toss to Hell The luckless Pots he marr'd in making---Pish! He's a Good Fellow, and 't will all be well." |
| And lately, when I was not feeling fit, Bereft alike of Piety and Wit, There came in Angel Shape and offered me A fragrant Plant and bid me taste of it. And lately, by the Tavern Door agape, Came stealing through the Dusk an Angel Shape, Bearing a vessel on his Shoulder; and He bid me taste of it; and ‘twas---the Grape! |
| ‘Twas that reviving Herb, that Spicy Weed, The Cat-Nip. Tho’s ‘tis good in time of need, Ah, feed upon it lightly, for who knows To what unlovely antics it may lead. And this reviving Herb whose tender Green Fledges the River-Lip on which we lean--- Ah, lean upon it lightly! For who knows From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen! |
| Strange---is it not?---that of the numbers who Before me passed this Door of Darkness thro’, Not one returns thro’ it again, altho’ Ofttimes I’ve waited for an hour or two. Strange, is it not? That of the myriads who Before us pass’d the door of Darkness through, Not one returns to tell us of the Road, Which to discover me must travel too. |
| ‘Tis but a Tent where takes his one Night’s Rest A Rodent to the Realms of Death address’d When Cook, arising, looks for him and then--- Baits, and prepares it for another Guest. ‘Tis but a Tent where takes his one day’s rest A Sultan to the realm of Death addrest; The Sultan rises, and the dark Ferrash Strikes, and prepares it for another Guest. |
They say the Lion and the Lizard Keep 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 cannot break his Sleep. |
| Impotent glimpses of the Game displayed Upon the Counter---temptingly arrayed; Hither and thither moved or checked or weighed, And one by one back in the Ice Chest laid. But helpless Pieces of the Game He plays Upon this Chequer-board of Nights and Days; Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays, And one by one back in the Closet lays. |
| What if the Sole could fling the Ice aside, And with me to some Area’s haven glide--- Were’t not a Shame, were’t not a shame for it In this Cold Prison crippled to abide? Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside, And naked on the Air of Heaven ride, Were’t not a Shame—were’t not a Shame for him In this clay carcass crippled to abide? |
| Some for the Glories of the Sole, and Some Mew for the proper Bowl of Milk to come. Ah, take the fish and let your Credit go, And plead the rumble of an empty Tum. Some for the Glories of This World; and some Sigh for the Prophet’s Paradise to come; Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go, Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum! |
| One thing is certain: tho’ this Stolen Bite Should be my last and Wrath consume me quite, One taste of It within the Area caught Better than at the Table lost outright. And this I know: whether the one True Light Kindle to Love, or Wrath-consume me quite, One flash of It within the Tavern caught Better than in the Temple lost outright. |
| Indeed, indeed Repentance oft before I swore, but was I hungry when I swore? And then and then came Cook---with Hose in hand--- And drowned my glory in a sorry pour. Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before I swore---but was I sober when I swore? And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore. |
| What without asking hither harried whence, And without asking whither harried hence--- O, many a taste of that forbidden Sole Must down the memory of that Insolence. What, without asking, hither hurried Whence? And, without asking, Whither hurried hence! Oh, many a Cup of this forbidden Wine Must drown the memory of that insolence! |
| Heaven, but the vision of a flowing Bowl; And Hell, the sizzle of a frying Sole Heard in the hungry Darkness where Myself, So rudely cast, must impotently roll. Heav'n but the Vision of fulfill'd Desire, And Hell the Shadow from a Soul on fire Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves, So late emerg'd from, shall so soon expire. |
| The Vine has a tough fibre which about While clings my Being;---let the Canine flout Till his Bass Voice be pitched to such loud key It shall unlock the door I mew without. The Vine has struck a fibre: which about If clings my Being---let the Dervish flout; Of my Base metal may be filed a Key, That shall unlock the Door he howls without. |
| Up from the Basement to the Seventh flat I rose, and on the Crown of fashion sat, And many a Ball unraveled by the way--- But not the Master’s angry Bawl of “Scat!” Up from the Earth’s Center 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. |
| Then to the Well of Wisdom I---and lo! With my own Paw I wrought to make it flow, And This was all the Harvest that I reaped: We come like Kittens and like Cats we go. 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.” |
| Why be this Ink the fount of Wit?---who dare Blaspheme the glistening Pen-drink as a snare? A Blessing?---I should spread it, should I not? And if a Curse---why, then upset it!---there! Why, be this Juice the growth of God, who dare Blaspheme the twisted tendril as a Snare? A Blessing, we should use it, should we not? And if a Curse---why then, Who set it there? |
| A moment’s Halt, a momentary Taste Of Bitter, and amid the Trickling Waste I wrought strange shapes from Mah to Mahi, yet I know not what I wrote, nor why they chased. A Moment’s Halt---a momentary taste Of Being from the Well amid the Waste--- And Lo!---the phantom Caravan has reach’d The NOTHING it set out from---Oh, make haste! |
| Now I beyond the Pale am safely Past. O, but the long, long time their Rage shall last, Which, tho’ they call to supper, I shall heed As a Stone Cat should heed a Pebble cast. When You and I behind the Veil are past, Oh, but the long, long while the World shall last, Which of our Coming and Departure heeds As the Sea’s self should heed a pebble-cast. |
| And that perverted Soul beneath the Sky They call the Dog---Heed not his angry cry; Not all his Threats can make me budge one bit, Nor all his Empty Bluster terrify. And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky, Whereunder crawling coop’d we live and die, Lift not your hands to It for help---for it As impotently moves as you or I. |
| They are no other than a moving Show Of whirling Shadow Shapes that come and go Me-ward thro’ Moon illumined Darkness hurled, In midnight, by the Lodgers of the Row. We are no other than a moving row Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go Round with the Sun-illumin’d Lantern held In Midnight by the Master of the Show; |
| Myself when young did eagerly frequent The Backyard fence and heard great Argument About it, and About, yet evermore Came out with fewer fur than in I went. 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. |
| Ah, me! If you and I could but conspire To grasp this Sorry Scheme of things entire, Would we not shatter it to bits, and then Enfold it nearer to our Heart’s Desire? Ah Love! Could you and I with Him conspire To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire, Would not we shatter it to bits---and then Re-mold it nearer to the Heart’s Desire! |
| Tho’ Two and Two make four by rule of line, Or they make Twenty-two by Logic fine, Of all the figures one may fathom, I Shall ne’er be floored by anything but Nine. For “Is” and “Is-not” though with Rule and Line And “UP-AND-DOWN” by Logic I define, Of all that one should care to fathom, I Was never deep in anything but---Wine. |
| And fear not lest Existence shut the Door On You and Me, to open it no more. The Cream of Life from out your Bowl shall pour Nine times---ere it lie broken on the floor. And fear not lest Existence closing your Account, and mine, should know the like no more; The Eternal Saki from that Bowl has pour’d Millions of Bubbles like us, and will pour. |
| So, if the fish you Steal---the Cream you drink--- Ends in what all begins and ends in, Think, Unless the Stern Recorder points to Nine, Tho’ They would drown you---still you shall not sink. Would but some winged-Angel ere too late Arrest the yet unfolded Roll of Fate, And make the stern Recorder otherwise Enregister, or quite obliterate! |
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