Ah Love! Could you and I with Fate conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire
Would we not shatter it to bits– and then
Re-mould it nearer to our Heart’ Desire!
Here with a little Bread beneath the Bough,
A flask of Wine, a Book of Verse– and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness–
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow.
From The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, Fitzgerald translation, second edition, 1868 (the first crappy old book I ever bought), quatrains CVIII and XII, respectively.