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Страница 347 - There was the Door to which I found no Key; There was the Veil through which I might not see: Some little talk awhile of ME and THEE There was — and then no more of THEE and ME.
Страница 330 - 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.
Страница 329 - We are no other than a moving row Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go Round with the Sun-illumined Lantern held In Midnight by the Master of the Show...
Страница 317 - Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling: The Bird of Time has but a little way To flutter — and the Bird is on the Wing.
Страница 256 - Yet Ah, that Spring should vanish with the Rose ! That Youth's sweet-scented manuscript should close! The Nightingale that in the branches sang, Ah whence, and whither flown again, who knows...
Страница 347 - Angel of the darker Drink At last shall find you by the river-brink, And, offering his Cup, invite your Soul Forth to your Lips to quaff — you shall not shrink.
Страница 348 - Tis but a Tent where takes his one day's rest A Sultan to the realm of Death addrest ; The Sultan rises, and the dark Ferrash Strikes, and prepares it for another Guest.
Страница 79 - Go thy way, eat thy bread with joy, and drink thy wine with a merry heart; for God now accepteth thy works.