Richard Le Gallienne
In A Copy Of Fitzgerald's - Poem by Richard Le Gallienne
A little book, this grim November day,
Wherein, O tired heart, to creep away,-
Come drink this wine and wear this fadeless rose,
Nor heed the world, nor what the world shall say.
A thousand gardens-yet to-day there blows
In all their wintry walks no single rose,
But here with Omar you shall find the Spring
That fears no Autumn and eternal glows.
So on the song-soft petals of his rhyme
Pillow your head, as in some golden clime,
And let the beauty of eternity
Smooth from your brow the little frets of time.
Comments about In A Copy Of Fitzgerald's by Richard Le Gallienne
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye