Happy Is The Man, I Thought, Who,

Fools, Art Is A Heavy Task, More Heavy Than Gold Crowns; It's Far More Difficult To Match Firm Words Than Armies, They're Disciplined Troops, Unconquered, To Be Placed In Rhythm, The Mind's Most Mighty Foe, And Not Disperse In Air. I'd Give, Believe Me, A Whole Land For One Good Song, For I Know Well That Only Words, That Words Alone, Like The High Mountains, Have No Fear Of Age Or Death.

May He Be Cursed On Earth Who Gives His Trust To Virtue, That Bankrupt Crone Who Takes Our Life's Pure Gold And Gives But Bad Receipts For Payment In The Lower World. Ah, Passers-by That Stroll, Travelers That Come And Go, All That I Had, I Placed On Virtue, And Lost The Game!

To Think Things Out Properly And Fairly, A Fellow's Got To Be Calm And Old And Toothless: When You're An Old Gaffer With No Teeth, It's Easy To Say: 'damn It, Boys, You Mustn't Bite!' But, When You've Got All Thirty-two Teeth.

To Cleave That Sea [the Aegean] In The Gentle Autumnal Season, Murmuring The Name Of Each Islet, Is To My Mind The Joy Most Apt To Transport The Heart Of Man Into Paradise.

I Said Only One Word, Brought Only One Message: Love. Love - Nothing Else.