Living Life Tomorrow's fate, though thou be wise, Thou canst not tell >>
The moving finger writes, and having written moves on. Nor all thy pie >>
Oh, the brave Music of a distant drum! >>
I never saw a man who looked with such a wistful eye upon that little >>
And that inverted bowl we call The Sky, where under crawling coop't we >>
The sky is the daily bread of the eyes. >>
And that inverted bowl we call The Sky, where under crawling coop't we live and die, lift not thy hands to It for help -- for it rolls impotently on as thou or I.