Go, little book,
To him who, on a lute with horns of pearl,
Sang of the white feet of the Golden Girl:
And bid him look
Into thy pages: it may hap that he
May find that golden maidens dance through thee.
I got the complete works of Oscar Wilde at a thrift store this weekend. it was t he sage colored, aged cover that drew me in, but I think I will learn to love the content of the pages as well. Oh, the magic of words...