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Don't Eat With Your Mouth Full

Where can we live but days?

F. Scott Fitzgerald's Rubaiyat
I really ought to be going to bed - and I will, in a minute - but once you've had the idea of rewriting The Great Gatsby in the style of Edward Fitzgerald's Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam it's hard to tear yourself away. This is as far as I've got. If I leave it here now, will I find the entire novel completed by morning courtesy of night-tripping elves? One can only hope.

A blown seed of the house of Carraway,
A Hunter of the East, to hope a prey—
Caught on a wind of restless dreams
He floats, he falls—but how long will he stay?

The Sultan’s Turret echoes to the gong
That throws his doors wide to a gorgeous throng:
Each week a glittering caravanserai
Renews their numbers and renews their song.

The Hyacinth, with wanton petals dressed,
The Rose whose perfume makes a Saint twice blessed,
These flowers by evening lose their bloom and die:
Pluck me one Daisy, and forget the rest.