English - Poet | March 31, 1809 - July 14, 1883
There was the Door to which I found no key; There was the Veil through which I might see.
Edward Fitzgerald
DoorKeyVeilSeeThroughFound
A book of verses underneath the bough, A jug of wine, a loaf of bread-and thou.
BookWineUnderneathThouJugLoaf
I came like Water, and like Wind I go.
WaterWindGoLikeI CameCame
The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop, The Leaves of Life keep falling one by one.
LifeWineFallingKeepDropLeaves
I am all for the short and merry life.
LifeI AmShortAmMerry
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.
MovingTearsBackWitLineOut
Ah, take the Cash in hand and waive the Rest.
RestHandCashTakeAh
The Ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes, But Here or There as strikes the Player goes.
QuestionBallHerePlayerStrikes
Strange, is it not? That of the myriads who Before us pass'd the door of Darkness through, Not one returns to tell us of the Road Which to discover we must travel too.
DarknessTravelDoorRoadStrange
Think then you are Today what Yesterday you were - Tomorrow you shall not be less.
TodayTomorrowThinkYouYesterday
I sometimes think that never blows so red The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled; That every Hyacinth the Garden wears Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head.
RedRoseThinkGardenSometimesHer
Taste is the feminine of genius.
GeniusTasteFeminine
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