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.