For In And Out, Above, About, Below,

By Fate Full Many A Heart Has Been Undone, And Many A Sprightly Rose Made Woe-begone; Plume Thee Not On Thy Lusty Youth And Strength: Full Many A Bud Is Blasted Ere Its Bloom.

You've Seen The World, And All You've Seen Is Nothing; And Everything, As Well, That You Have Said And Heard Is Nothing. You've Sprinted Everywhere Between Here And The Horizon; It Is Nothing. And All The Possessions You've Treasured Up At Home Are Nothing.

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.

For In And Out, Above, About, Below, 'tis Nothing But A Magic Shadow-show, Played In A Box Whose Candle Is The Sun, Round Which We Phantom Figures Come And Go.

You Know How Little While We Have To Stay, And, Once Departed, May Return No More.