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2013-05-15T02:14:14Z

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This page contains a plaintext edited version of the edition of the Rubaiyat used at the time, which was used for the OTP decrpytions. It also contains a link to a .txt of this plaintext document and a document containing the list of decrpyts given by the OTP software for review.

[[File:Plaintext Rubiyat and Decrypts.rar]]

'''Plaintext Rubaiyat'''

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
Omar Khayyam
The Poet-Astronomer of Persia died
in A.D. 1123. His verses are famous
for their supreme beauty and their
ever popular philosophy of life.
Edward Fitzgerald
Born in 1809 and died in 1883. The
rhythm and melody of his translation
have given it a lasting place in English
literature.

Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

Awake! for Morning in the
Bowl of Night
Has flung the Stone that puts the
Stars to Flight:
And Lo! the Hunter of the
East has caught
The Sultan's Turret in a Noose
of Light
Dreaming when Dawns Left
Hand was in the Sky
I heard a Voice within the Tavern
cry,
Awake, my Little ones, and
fill the Cup
Before Lifes Liquor in its Cup
be dry
And, as the Cock crew, those
who stood before
The Tavern shouted Open
then the Door!
You know how little while we
have to stay,
And, once departed, may return
no more
Now the New Year reviving old
Desires,
The thoughtful Soul to Solitude
retires,
Where the WHITE HAND OF
MOSES on the Bough
Puts out, and Jesus from the
Ground suspires
Iram indeed is gone with all its
Rose,
And Jamshyds Sevn-ringd Cup
where no one knows;
But still the Vine her ancient
Ruby yields,
And still a Garden by the Water
blows
And Davids Lips are lockt;
but in divine
Highpiping Pehlevi, with
Wine! Wine! Wine!
Red Wine! the Nightingale
cries to the Rose
That yellow Cheek of hers tincarnadine
Come, fill the Cup, and in the
Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance
fling:
The Bird of Time has but a
little way
To fly and Lo! the Bird is on
the Wing
And look a thousand Blossoms
with the Day
Woke and a thousand scatterd
into Clay:
And this first Summer Month
that brings the Rose
Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad
away
But come with old Khayyam,
and leave the Lot
Of Kaikobad and Kaikhosru forgot:
Let Rustum lay about him as
he will,
Or Hatim Tai cry Supperheed
them not
With me along some Strip of
Herbage strown
That just divides the desert from
the sown,
Where name of Slave and
Sultan scarce is known,
And pity Sultan Mahmud on his
Throne
Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath
the Bough,
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse
and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness
And Wilderness is Paradise
enow
How sweet is mortal Sovranty!
think some:
Others How blest the Paradise
to come!
Ah, take the Cash in hand and
waive the Rest;
Oh, the brave Music of a distant
Drum!
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
The Wordly Hope men set their
Hearts upon
Turns Ashes or its prospers;
and anon,
Like Snow upon the Deserts
dusty Face
Lighting a little Hour or two
is gone
And those who husbanded the
Golden Grain,
And those who flung it to the
Winds like Rain,
Alike to no such aureate Earth
are turnd
As, buried once, Men want dug
up again
Think, in this batterd Caravanserai
Whose Doorways are alternate
Night and Day,
How Sultan after Sultan with
his Pomp
Abode his Hour or two, and went
his way
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 oer his Head, and he lies
fast asleep
I sometimes think that never
blows so red
The Rose as where some buried
Caesar bled;
That every Hyacinth the Garden
den wears
Dropt in its Lap from some once
lovely Head
And this delightful Herb whose
tender Green
Fledges the Rivers Lip on which
we lean
Ah, lean upon it lightly! for
who knows
From what once lovely Lip it
springs unseen!
Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup
that clears
Today of past Regrets and future
Fears
tomorow? Why, Tomorrow I may be
Myself with Yesterdays Sevn
Thousand Years
Lo! some we loved, the loveliest
and best
That Time and Fate of all their
Vintage prest,
Have drunk their Cup a Round
or two before,
And one by one crept silently to
Rest
And we, that now make merry
in the Room
They left, and Summer dresses in
new Bloom,
Ourselves must we beneath the
Couch of Earth
Descend, ourselves to make a
Couch for whom?
Ah, make the most of what we
yet may spend,
Before we too into the Dust descend;
Dust, to lie,
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer
Dust into Dust, and under
and sans End!
Alike for those who for Today
prepare,
And those that after a Tomorrow
stare,
A Muezzin from the Tower of
Darkness cries
Fools! your Reward is neither
Here nor There!
Why, all the Saints and Sages
who discussd
Of the Two Worlds so learnedly,
are thrust
Like foolish Prophets forth;
their Words to Scorn
Are scatterd, and their Mouths
are stopt with Dust
Oh, come with old Khayyam,
and leave the Wise
To talk; one thing is certain, that
Life flies;
One thing is certain, and the
Rest is Lies;
The Flower that once has blown
for ever dies
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 as in
I went
With them the Seed of Wisdom
did I sow,
And with my own hand labourd
it to grow:
And this was all the Harvest
that I reapd
I came like Water, and like Wind
I go
Into this Universe, and why not
knowing,
Nor whence, like Water willy nilly
flowing:
And out of it, as Wind along
the Waste,
I know not whither, willy nilly
blowing
What, without asking, hither
hurried whence?
And, without asking, whither
hurried hence?
Another and another Cup to
drown
The Memory of this Impertinence!
Up from Earths Centre through
the Seventh Gate
I rose, and on the Throne of
Saturn sate,
And many Knots unraveld by
the Road;
But not the Knot of Human Death
and Fate
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 seemd and then no more
of THEE and ME
Then to the rolling Heav n itself
I cried,
Asking, What Lamp had Destiny
to guide
Her little Children stumbling in
the Dark?
And A blind Understanding!
Heavn replied
Then to this earthen Bowl did
I adjourn
My Lip the Secret Well of Life
to learn:
And Lip to Lip it murmurd
While you live
Drink! for once dead you
never shall return
I think the Vessel, that with
fugitive
Articulation answerd, once did
live,
And merrymake; and the cold
Lip I kissd
How many Kisses might it take
and give!
For in the Marketplace, one
Dusk of Day,
I watchd the Potter thumping his
wet Clay:
And with its all obliterated
Tongue
It murmurd Gently, Brother,
gently, pray!
Ah, fill the Cup: what boots
It to repeat
How Time is slipping underneath
our Feet:
Unborn Tomorrow, and dead
yesterday,
Why fret about them if Today
be sweet!
One Moment in Annihilations
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!
How long, how long, in infinite
Pursuit
Of This and That endeavour
and dispute?
Better be merry with the fruitful
Grape
Than sadden after none, or bitter,
Fruit
you know, my Friends, how long
since in my House
For a new Marriage I did make
Carouse:
Divorced old barren Reason
from my Bed,
And took the Daughter of the
Vine to Spouse
For is and is not though
with Rule and Line,
And Up And Down without, I
could define,
I yet in all I only ~ared to
know,
Was never deep in anything but
Wine
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!
The Grape that can with Logic
absolute
The Two and Seventy jarring
Sects confute:
The subtle Alchemist that in a
Trice
Lifets leaden Metal into Gold
transmute
The mighty Mahmud, the victorious Lord,
That all the misbelieving and
black Horde
Of Fears and Sorrows that in
fest the Soul
Scatters and slays with his enchanted
Sword
But leave the Wise to wrangle,
and with me
The Quarrel of the Universe let
be:
And, in some corner of the Hubbub
coucht,
Make Game of that which makes
as much of Thee
For in and out, above, about,
below,
Tis nothing but a Magic Shadow
show,
Playd in a Box whose Candle
is the Sun,
Round which we Phantom Figures
come and go
And if the Wine you drink, the
Lip you press,
End in the Nothing all Things
end in Yes
Then fancy while Thou art,
Thou art but what
Thou shalt be Nothing Thou
shalt not be less
While the Rose blows along the
River Brink,
With old Khayyam the Ruby
Vintage drink:
And when the Angel with his
darker Draught
Draws up to Thee take that,
and do not shrink
Tis all a Chequerboard of Nights
and Days
Where Destiny with Men for
Pieces plays:
Hither and thither moves, and
mates, and slays,
And one by one back in the Closet
lays
The Ball no Question makes of
Ayes and Noes,
But Right or Left as strikes the
Player goes;
And He that tossd Thee down
into the Field,
He knows about it all HE knows
HE knows!
The Moving Finger writes; and,
having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor
Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half
a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a
Word of it
And that inverted Bowl we call
The Sky,
Whereunder crawling coopt we
live and die,
Lift not thy hands to It for help
for It
Rolls impotently on as Thou
or I
With Earths first Clay They did
the Last Mans knead,
And then of the Last Harvest
sowd the Seed:
Yea, the first Morning of Creation
wrote
What the Last Dawn of Reckoning
shall read
I tell Thee this When, starting
from the Goal,
Over the shoulders of the flaming
Foal
Of Heavn Parwin and Mushtara
they flung,
In my predestind Plot of Dust
and Soul
The Vine had struck a Fibre;
which about
If clings my Being let the Sufi
flout;
Of my Base Metal may be filed
a Key,
That shall unlock the Door he
howls without
And this I know: whether the
one True Light
Kindle to Love, or Wrath consume
me quite,
One glimpse of It within the
Tavern caught
Better than in the Temple lost
outright
Oh, Thou, who didst with Pitfall
and with Gin
Beset the Road I was to wander
in,
Thou wilt not with Predestination
round
Enmesh me, and impute my Fall
to Sin?
Oh, Thou, who Man of baser
Earth didst make,
And who with Eden didst devise
the Snake;
For all the Sin wherewith the
Face of Man
Is blackend, Mans Forgiveness
give and take!
Listen again One Evening at the
Close
Of Ramazan, ere the better Moon
arose,
In that old Potters Shop I
stood alone
With the clay Population round
in Rows
And, strange to tell, among that
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 taen,
That He who subtly wrought
me into Shape
Should stamp me back to common
Earth again
Another said Why, neer 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 answerd 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!
Hes 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!
So while the Vessels one by one
were speaking,
One spied the little Crescent all
were seeking:
And then they joggd each other,
Brother! Brother!
Hark to the Porters Shoulder knot
acreaking!
Ah, with the Grape my fading
Life provide,
And wash my Body whence the
Life has died,
And in a Windingsheet of Vine
leaf wrapt,
So bury me by some sweet Garden
side
That evn my buried Ashes such
a Snare
Of Perfume shall fling up into the
Air,
As not a True Believer passing
by
But shall be overtaken unaware
Indeed, the Idols I have loved so
long
Have done my Credit in Mens
Eye much wrong:
Have drownd my Honour in a
shallow Cup,
And sold my Reputation for a
Song
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
And much as Wine has playd
the Infidel,
And robbd me of my Robe of
Honour well,
I often wonder what the Vintners
buy
One half so precious as the Goods
they sell
Alas, that Spring should vanish
with the Rose!
That Youths sweet scented
Manuscript should close!
The Nightingale that in the
Branches sang,
Ah, whence, and whither flown
again, who knows!
Ah Love! could Thou and I
with Fate conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of
Things entire,
Would not we shatter it to bits
and then
Re mould it nearer to the Hearts
Desire!
Ah, Moon of my Delight who
knowst no wane,
The Moon of Heavn is rising
once again:
How oft hereafter rising shall
she look
Through this same Garden after
me in vain!
And when Thyself with shining
Foot shall pass
Among the Guests Star scatterd
on the Grass,
And in thy joyous Errand reach
the Spot
Where I made one turn down
an empty Glass!
Tamam shud

Cipher Cracking 2013/Rubaiyat Plaintext - Revision history

A1195007: Created page with 'This page contains a plaintext edited version of the edition of the Rubaiyat used at the time, which was used for the OTP decrpytions. It also contains a link to a .txt of this p...'