All Live To Die, And Rise To

O, Thou Art Fairer Than The Evening Air Clad In The Beauty Of A Thousand Stars.

All Live To Die, And Rise To Fall.

My Men Like Satyrs Grazing On The Lawns, / Shall With Their Goat-feet Dance An Antic Hay.

Time Doth Run With Calm And Silent Foot, Shortening My Days And Thread Of Vital Life.

What Art Thou Faustus, But A Man Condemned To Die?