It is the glory and good of Art, That Art remains the one way possible Of speaking truth, to mouths like mine at least.
Days decrease, / And autumn grows, autumn in everything.
Our aspirations are our responsibilities.
A face to lose youth for, to occupy age With the dream of, meet death with.
The sad rhyme of the men who proudly clung To their first fault, and withered in their pride.
Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure.