Let those of intelligence with their stars,
Of magnificence and obligation,
Of waving hands and loud support,
Whilst I, whom destined of such bars,
I looked for joy in that I glorify most.
But as the depths of the sun in a man's eye,
And in themselves their sins lie buried,
For at a glance they in themselves die.
The shining armour famoused for fight,
After a thousand victories once thicken,
The book of catastrophe adds a page,
One after another,
And the rest need not forget,
About all that falls down.
Then happy I, as a whole,
Then happy I, as a soul.