Leave well - even 'pretty well' - alone that is what I learn as I get old.
Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the sky I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry: 'Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry
I sent my soul through the Invisible,<br/>Some letter of that After life to spell:<br/>And by and by my Soul return'd to me,<br/>And answer'd I Myself am Heav'n and Hell.
A book of verses underneath the bough, A jug of wine, a loaf of bread-and thou
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
Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough, / A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse - and Thou / Beside me singing in the Wilderness- / And Wilderness is Paradise enow.
Ah, Moon of my Delight who know'st no wane, / The Moon of Heav'n is rising once again: / How oft hereafter rising shall she look;/ Through this same Garden after me - in vain!
Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?
I sometimes think that never blows so red The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled; That every Hyacinth the Garden wears Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head
Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of Night Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight: And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light
Think then you are Today what Yesterday you were - Tomorrow you shall not be less
And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky, Where under crawling coop'd we live and die, Lift not your hands to It for help for it As impotently moves as you or I
Tis all a Checkerboard of Nights and Days Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays: Hither and thither moves, and mates, and stays, And one by one back in the Closet lays.
The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop, The Leaves of Life keep falling one by one.
I am all for the short and merry life.