Fitzgerald, Edward

"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."
- The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám

"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!"
- The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám

"And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky,
Whereunder crawling coop'd we live and die,
Lift not your hands to It for help - for it
As impotently moves as you or I."
- The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám

"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 /Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light."
- The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám

"Oh threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise!
One thing at least is certain - This Life flies;
One thing is certain and the rest is Lies;
The Flower that once has blown forever dies."
- The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám

"And much as Wine has played the Infidel,
And robbed me of my Robe of Honour - Well,
I often wonder what the Vintners buy
One half so precious as the stuff they sell."
- The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám

"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 Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám

"YESTERDAY This Day's Madness did prepare;
TOMORROW'S Silence, Triumph, or Despair:
Drink! for you know not whence you came, nor why:
Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where."
- The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám