Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say; Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?

Whether at Naishapur or Babylon, Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run, The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop, The Leaves of Life keep falling one by o…

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!

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