The moving hand once having writ moves on. Nor all thy piety nor wit can lure it back to cancel half a line.

I came like Water, and like Wind I go.

A Moment's Halt-a momentary taste Of BEING from the Well amid the Waste- And, Lo! the phantom Caravan has reach'd The NOTHING it set out from. Oh, make haste!

Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai Whose portals are alternate Night and Day, How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp Abode his destin'd Hour and went his way.

Ah Love! could you and I with him conspire To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire Would we not shatter it to bits-and then Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire?

You know how little while we have to stay, And, once departed, may return no more.

But helpless Pieces of the Game He plays Upon this Checker-board of Nights and Days; Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays, And one by one back in the Closet lays.