Lxxvi

Ye have heard how Marsyas, In the folly of his pride, Boasted of a matchless skill,— When the great god’s back was turned;

How his fond imagining Fell to ashes cold and grey, When the flawless player came In serenity and light.

So it was with those I loved In the years ere I loved thee. Many a saying sounds like truth, Until Truth itself is heard.

Many a beauty only lives Until Beauty passes by, And the mortal is forgot In the shadow of the god.