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When I am abased beneath the foot of destiny
And I am rooted up by the hand of destiny
Take heed that thou makes nothing but a goblet of my clay,
So long as it is full of the perfume of wine I may live.

 

Bodl 116

When I am abased beneath the foot of destiny
and am rooted up from the hope of life,
take heed that thou makest nothing but a goblet of my clay,
haply when it is full of wine I may revive.

 

Chr 40

When I am cast headlong into the grave of my hope,
and I am like a plucked bird under the hand of Death,
take care! from my clay make nothing but a wine
bottle. Perhaps, when I am filled with wine, I may revive.

F4 89

"Well," murmur'd one, "Let whoso make or buy,
"My Clay with long Oblivion is gone dry:
"But fill me with the old familiar Juice
"Methinks I might recover by and by."

HA 89b

When I am abased beneath the foot of Destiny,
And am rooted up from the hope of life.
Take heed that thou makest nothing but a goblet of my clay.
Haply when it is full of wine I may revive.

Nic 290

Lorsque, la tête renversée, je serai tombé aux pieds de la mort; lorsque cet ange destructeur m'aura réduit à l'état d'un oiseau déplumé, alors gardez-vous de faire de ma poussière autre chose qu'un flacon, car peut-être Ie parfum du vin qu'il contiendra me fera-t-il revivre un instant.

P 579

When my head at the foot of doom laid low shall become,
When I by death's hand plucked bare as a crow shall become,
Beware ye lest aught but winepots ye make of my clay;
Belike, when they 're filled! I alive once mo' shall become.

Th 373

When at the foot of Death I am laid low,
And when his hand doth my plucked plumage strew.
Naught of my clay, look ye but flasks ye make.
Perchance the wine-scent new life will bestow.

Wh 330

When Death shall tread me down upon the plain,
And pluck my feathers, and my life-blood drain,
Then mold me to a cup, and fill with wine;
Haply its scent will make me breathe again.

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