Edward FitzGerald

Once on a time from all the Circles
Between the steadfast Earth and rolling
The Birds, of all Note,
Plumage, and Degree,

I A
OK of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread—and Thou   Beside me singing in the Wilderness— O,
Wilderness were Paradise enow

Wake
For the Sun, who scattered into
The Stars before him from the Field of Night,
Drives Night along with them from Heav'n and

IS a dull sight  To see the year dying,
When winter winds  Set the yellow wood sighing:    Sighing,
O sighing
When such a time cometh  I do

I
KE
for Morning in the Bowl of Night    Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight:        And Lo
the Hunter of the East has caught    The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light

The wind blew keenly from the Western sea,
And drove the dead leaves slanting from the tree-- Vanity of vanities, the Preacher saith--Heaping them up before her Father's
When I saw her whom I shall see no more-- We cannot bribe thee,

'Tis a dull
To see the year dying,
When winter
Set the yellow wood sighing: