And do you think that unto such as you,A maggot-minded, starved, fanatic crew,God gave the Secret, and denied it me?--Well, well, what matters it! believe that too.Old Khayyám, say you, is a debauchee;If only you were half so good as he!He sins no sins but gentle drunkenness,Great-hearted mirth and kind adultery.But yours the cold heart, and the murderous tongue,The wintry soul that hates to hear a song,The close-shut fist, the mean and measuring eye,And all the little poisoned ways of wrong.
-Omar Khayyám
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