There was a Door to which I found no Key:
There was a Veil past which I could not see:
Some little Talk awhile of ME and THEE
There seemed-and then no more of THEE and ME.
"The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam", Stanza XXXII

Old tailor of tents, old weaver of words,
You lure me into your loom, and catch me
as surely as you catch the flying shuttle.

What matters that little talk, now silenced?
I reach the door and find it open,
Gaze at the veil, and see that it is gossamer.

Shall my memory fade so soon,
Like voices from a distant room?
Does this vale of tears lead only
To a place of silence and dark blindness?

If so, we but return to that dead yesterday
from which we came,
Our hoped for Tomorrows outlasted by Today.

I had thought tomorrow to do great deeds,
But perhaps I'll join old Omar beneath the Couch of Earth.

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