You know how little while we have to stay,
And, once departed, may return no more
Ah, my Belov'ed fill the Cup that clears
To-day Past Regrets and Future Fears:
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!
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.
Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam
Linda
17th October 2018