A quatrain from Edward Fitzgerald's translation of the Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám.

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.

Time flies as an Arrow through miry day new
Not Watch, Sloth, nor Twirling can anything do;
Roll a Verse or Couplet - lo, luv'r, view:
Fruit flies like a Banana, too.

A simultaneous anagram and approximate translation of an excerpt from Dante's Inferno (Canto III, tercets 1-4).

"Per me si va ne la citta dolente
Per me si va ne l'etterno dolore
Per me si va tra la perduta gente.

Giustizia mosse il mio alto fattore;
Fecemi la divina podestate,
La somma sapienza e 'l primo amore.

Dinanzi a me non fuor cose create
Se non etterne, e io etterno duro.
LASCIATE OGNE SPERANZA, VOI CH'INTRATE."

Queste parole di colore oscuro
vid' io scritte al sommo d'una porta;
per ch'io: "Maestro, il senso lor m'e duro."

"I am a portal to a sad place.
I am a cover to eternal fire.
Go, see our pit ooze craven memories.

Elite persistence moved some creator;
Divine omnipotence created me;
I am solo orgies of primal love.

Listen: ere me no denizens used our portal.
I quit not, and I last eternal.
FOREGO ALL HOPE, ALL MEN THAT ENTER."

Crazed and curious, in a daze I sat
To see man pour out over a portal;
So I said: "Master, I cannot see its import."

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