I
Why rejoice in beauty? What
In all the world is half s vain?
Nay, there is naught
Gives so much pain.
I know that over hearts her rule is sore,
While one is beautiful that she
May have of passion and of lovers store:
But that has little time to be
And a long time to be no more.

II
Pathetic plaything of a witless chance,
Victim of evils and of laws,
Man, who in whatever cause,
Must suffer life’s impertinence,
Still, after all that’s past,
Whence comes it that you fear the power of death?
Coward! regard it with unhurried breath,
And know this outrage for the last.

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