Category: Poetry
_Fain had I given precious things and sweet, But having neither frankincense nor gem, Only sad flowers--last year's fading yield Gathered about that bitter harvest field-- I made a sorry garland out of them, And laid it where immortelles had been meet._
_Fain had I given precious things and sweet, But having neither frankincense nor gem, Only sad flowers--last year's fading yield Gathered about that bitter harvest field-- I mad...
2. Part 2Therefore, scorn not these flowers of phantasy That blow about the ivory gate of dreams, For though they have not truth or constancy Yet very fair their idle semblance seems. Th...