Sing, riding 's a joy! For me I ride.

Thou art my single day, God lends to leaven What were all earth else, with a feel of heaven.

Make us happy and you make us good.

I give the fight up: let there be an end, a privacy, an obscure nook for me. I want to be forgotten even by God.

The aim, if reached or not, makes great the life: Try to be Shakespeare, leave the rest to fate!

God is the perfect poet, Who in his person acts his own creations.

We mortals cross the ocean of this world Each in his average cabin of a life; The bests not big, the worst yields elbowroom.