speaks of love, he means the soul, and so on. As a matter of fact, no
man has ever written a plainer record of what he means, or has left his
meaning less ambiguous. When he says wine and love he means wine and
love--earthly things, which may or may not have their spiritual
counterparts, but which at least have given no sign of them to him. The
same persistent note is heard in all his verses. It is the grape, and
wine, and fair women, and books, that make up the sum total of life for
Omar as he knows it.

"Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring
Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To flutter--and the Bird is on the Wing.

A Book of verses underneath the Bough,
A jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread--and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness--
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!

We are no other than a moving row
Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go
Round with the sun-illumined Lantern held
In Midnight by the Master of the Show."

It would show a sad lack of humour if we were to take this too
seriously, and shake our heads over our eastern visitor. The cult of
Omar has been blamed for paganising English society. Really it came in
as a foreign curiosity, and, for the most part, that it has remained.
When we had a visit some years ago from that great oriental potentate Li
Hung Chang, we all put on our best clothes and went out to welcome him.