What! no one reads on a sunday ?
Confession.
My Rose, My Rose
My lovely Rose
'Tis too much, of fate ?
Fear not my rose
my lovely rose
for you I do not hate
It's not for fear of thorn
I retreat,
but a lack of things, my own.
A gentle touch is but a must,
the rest, they just won't do.
A die once cast,
cannot recant
or so an old man crows.
- SiegerKranz Meer
The denouement
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.
- Omar Khayyam translated by Edward FitzGerald
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