Edward FitzGerald

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

From the Spanish of Pedro Calderon de la BarcaA dream it was in which I found myself.
And you that hail me now, then hailed me king,
In a brave palace that was all my own,
Within, and all without it, mine; until

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…

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!

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

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

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