The Bitter Dregs Of Fortune's Cup To

A Man Who Has Been Through Bitter Experiences And Travelled Far Enjoys Even His Sufferings After A Time

My Hour At Last Has Come; Yet Not Ingloriously Or Passively I Die, But First Will Do Some Valiant Deed, Of Which Mankind Shall Hear In After Time.

Like The Generations Of Leaves, The Lives Of Mortal Men. Now The Wind Scatters The Old Leaves Across The Earth, Now The Living Timber Bursts With The New Buds And Spring Comes Round Again. And So With Men: As One Generation Comes To Life, Another Dies Away.

Still, We Will Let All This Be A Thing Of The Past, Though It Hurts Us, And Beat Down By Constraint The Anger That Rises Inside Us. Now I Am Making An End Of My Anger. It Does Not Become Me, Unrelentingly To Rage On

There Is The Heat Of Love, The Pulsing Rush Of Longing, The Lover’s Whisper, Irresistible—magic To Make The Sanest Man Go Mad.