So I Be Written In The Book

Heaven But The Vision Of Fulfilled Desire, And Hell The Shadow From A Soul On Fire.

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.

And This I Know; Whether The One True Light Kindle To Love, Or Wrath Consume Me Quite, One Flash Of It Within The Tavern Caught Better Than In The Temple Lost Outright.

I Hide My Distress, Just Likethe Blessed Birds Hide Themselveswhen They Are Preparing To Die. Wine! Wine, Roses, Music And Yourindifference To My Sadness, My Loved-one!

Dead Yesterdays And Unborn Tomorrows, Why Fret About It, If Today Be Sweet.