Poem by Arthur Sherburne Hardy

On the Fly-Leaf of the Rubaiyat

Deem not this book a creed, 't is but the cry
Of one who fears not death, yet would not die;
Who at the table feigns with sorry jest.
To love the wine the Master's hand has pressed,
The while he loves the absent Master best,--
The bitter cry of Love for love's reply!

1. Duality
2. Lullaby
3. Iter Supremum

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