"The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it"
Verse 51, First Edition of Edward FitzGerald's translation of the Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám.
Strange, is it not? that of the myriads who
Before us pass'd the door of Darkness through,
Not one returns to tell us of the Road,
Which to discover we must travel too.
Nice idea to ilustrate Poetry with the B&W Photo or the B&W Photo with the Poetry.
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Verse 51, First Edition of Edward FitzGerald's translation of the Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám.