“Ah, with the Grape my fading life provide,
And wash the Body whence the Life has died,
And lay me, shrouded in the living Leaf,
By some not unfrequented Garden-side.”
Archieven
FitzGerald, E.
“Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears
To-day of past Regrets and future Fears–
To-morrow? — Why, To-morrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday’s Sev’n Thousand Years.”
FitzGerald, E.
“The Moving Finger writes, and having writ
Moves on; not all thy Piety nor wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a line
Nor all thy tears wash out one World of it.”
FitzGerald, E.
Then said another–“Surely not in vain,
“My Substance from the common Earth was ta’en,
That He who subtly wrought me into Shape
Should stamp me back to common Earth again.”
FitzGerald, E.
“The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.”
FitzGerald, E.
The Moving Finger writes, and having writ
Moves on; not all thy Piety nor wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a line
Nor all thy tears wash out one World of it.
FitzGerald, E.
“The Moving Finger writes, and having writ
Moves on; not all thy Piety nor wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a line
Nor all thy tears wash out one World of it.”
FitzGerald, E.
Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!
That Youth’s sweet scented Manuscript should close!
The Nightingale that in the Branches sang,
Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows!
FitzGerald, E.
‘Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days
Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays:
Hither and thither moves, and mates and slays
And one by one back in the Closet lays.
FitzGerald, E.
The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon
Turns Ashes–or it prospers; and anon,
Like Snow upon the Desert’s dusty Face
Lighting a little Hour or two—is gone.