Daydreamer's

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.And that inverted bowl we call the sky, Whereunder crawling coop't we live and die, Lift not thy hands to it for help-for it Rolls impotently on as thou or I.