Shayari Bazar

Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of SpringThe Winter Garment of Repentance flingThe Bird of Time has but a little wayTo fly -- and Lo! The Bird is on the Wing.The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor WitShall lure it back to cancel half a Line,Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.