The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

			LI

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.

			XXIII

Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
Before we too into the Dust descend;
	Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie,
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and
					--sans End!

			XXIV

Alike for those who for To-day prepare,
And those that after a To-morrow stare,
	A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries
"Fools! you Reward is neither Here nor There!"

			XXVII

Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Doctor and Saint, and heard great Argument
	About it and about; but evermore
Came out by the same Door as in I went.

A Book of verses underneath the Bough
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread--and Thou
  Beside me singing in the Wilderness--
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!

Some for the glories of This World; and some
Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come;
  Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go.
Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!