And, Lo! the phantom Caravan has reach'd

The Nothing it set out from. Oh, make haste!

Rubáiyát. Stanza xlviii.

Heav'n but the Vision of fulfill'd Desire,

And Hell the Shadow of a Soul on fire.

Rubáiyát. Stanza lxvii.

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.