“The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it”
“Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough, / A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse - and Thou / Beside me singing in the Wilderness- / And Wilderness is Paradise enow.”
“Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the sky I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry: 'Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry”
“Ah, Moon of my Delight who know'st no wane, / The Moon of Heav'n is rising once again: / How oft hereafter rising shall she look;/ Through this same Garden after me - in vain!”
“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”
“Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of Night Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight: And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light”
“And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky, Where under crawling coop'd we live and die, Lift not your hands to It for help for it As impotently moves as you or I”
