by Omar Khayyam
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.
- Share this Poem:
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.
