The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

XIV. Were it not Folly, Spider-like to spin The Thread of present Life away to win -- What? for ourselves, who know not if we shall Breathe out the very Breath we now breathe in! XV. Look to the Rose that blows about us -- "Lo, Laughing," she says, "into the World I blow: At once the silken Tassel of my Purse Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw." 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 -- is gone.

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