Everything that man esteems Endures a moment or a day. Love's pleasure drives his love away, The painter's brush consumes his dreams.

For to articulate sweet sounds together Is to work harder than all these, and yet Be thought an idler by the noisy set Of bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymen The martyrs call the world.

The labor of the alchemists, who were called artist in their day, is a befitting comparison for a deliberate change of style.

Odor of blood when Christ was slain Made all Platonic tolerance vain And vain all Doric discipline.

The years like great black oxen tread the world, and God, the herdsman goads them on behind, and I am broken by their passing feet.

I call on those that call me son, Grandson, or great-grandson, On uncles, aunts, great-uncles or great-aunts, To judge what I have done. Have I, that put it into words, Spoilt what old loins have sent?

Before me floats an image, man or shade, / Shade more than man, more image than a shade.