Obey the voice at eve obeyed at prime.

It is time to be old, To take in sail: — The god of bounds, Who sets to seas a shore, Came to me in his fatal rounds, And said: 'No more!

Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days, Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes, And marching single in an endless file, Bring diadems and fagots in their hands.

For the prevision is allied Unto the thing so signified; Or say, the foresight that awaits Is the same Genius that creates.

Deep in the man sits fast his fate To mould his fortunes, mean or great.

Wilt thou seal up the avenues of ill? Pay every debt as if God wrote the bill.

He thought it happier to be dead, To die for Beauty, than live for bread.

Fear not, then, thou child infirm, There's no god dare wrong a worm.

Born for success he seemed, With grace to win, with heart to hold, With shining gifts that took all eyes.

Nor mourn the unalterable Days That Genius goes and Folly stays.