MAN'S BEGINNING  

  LOVE AT LAST  

  THE MIRROR OF THOUGHT  

  I'M SORRY  

  DREAMLAND LOVE  

  

  

       FLORENCE ON A CERTAIN NIGHT     

       I     

       (October, 1504)     

 [Someone sings in the street below] 

       Fair-fleeting Youth must snatch at happiness,     

       He knows not if To-morrow curse or bless,     

       Nor round what bend upon his travel-way     

       The bandit Death lurks armed—of Yesterday     

       His palely featured griefs he knows too well;     

       Therefore with jests To-day, come Heaven, come Hell,     

       He plucks with either hand what joys he may.     

  

       Joy is a flower     

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