At last the god cometh! The air runs over with splendor; The fire leaps high on the altar; Melodious thunders shake the ground. Hark to the Delphic r… - Edmund Clarence Stedman

Where's he that died o' yesterday? What better chance hath he To clink the can and toss the pot When this night's junkets be? For the lad that died o' yesterday Is just as dead — ho! ho! — As the whoreson knave men laid away A thousand years ago.

Crops failed; wealth took a flight; house, treasure, land, Slipped from my hold—thus plenty comes and goes.
One friend I had, but he too loosed his hand (Or was it I?) the year I met with Rose.

Hopeless of all he dared to hope so long, The music born within him dies away; Even the song he loved becomes a pain, Full-freighted with a yearning all in vain.