Zora Bernice May Cross

(18 May 1890 – 22 January 1964 / Brisbane)

Books - Poem by Zora Bernice May Cross

Oh! Bury me in books when I am dead,
Fair quarto leaves of ivory and gold,
And silk octavos, bound in brown and red,
That tales of love and chivalry unfold.
Heap me in volumes of fine vellum wrought,
Creamed with the close content of silent speech;
Wrap me in sapphire tapestries of thought
From some old epic out of common reach.
I would my shroud were verse-embroidered too---
Your verse for preference—in starry stitch,
And powdered o’er with rhymes that poets woo,
Breathing dream-lyrics in moon-measures rich.
Night holds me with a horror of the grave
That knows not poetry, nor song, nor you;
Nor leaves of love that down the ages weave
Romance and fire in burnished cloths of blue.
Oh, bury me in books, and I’ll not mind
The cold, slow worms that coil around my head;
Since my lone soul may turn the page and find
The lines you wrote to me, when I am dead.


Comments about Books by Zora Bernice May Cross

  • Rookie Janri Gogeshvili (2/20/2008 7:15:00 AM)

    The beautiful dream … _ causes sympathy and respect … (Report) Reply

    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
Read all 1 comments »



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Read poems about / on: epic, romance, poetry, moon, song, red, dream, fire, night, love, lyric



Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 1, 2004



[Hata Bildir]