(From the translation of the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam by Edward Fitzgerald. Illustrations by René Bull.)
Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring The Winter Garment of Repentance fling: The Bird of Time has but a little way To fly---and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.
And look---a thousand blossoms with the Day Woke---and a thousand scatter'd into Clay: And this first Summer Month that brings the Rose Shall take Jamshid and Kaikobad away.
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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!
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.
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