Sing, O Muse, Of The Rage Of

Men In Their Generations Are Like The Leaves Of The Trees. The Wind Blows And One Year's Leaves Are Scattered On The Ground; But The Trees Burst Into Bud And Put On Fresh Ones When The Spring Comes Round.

Nothing Feebler Does Earth Nurture Than Man, Of All Things Breathing And Moving.

Fate Is The Same For The Man Who Holds Back, The Same If He Fights Hard. We Are All Held In A Single Honor, The Brave With The Weaklings. A Man Dies Still If He Has Done Nothing, As The One Who Has Done Much.

There Is Nothing Alive More Agonized Than Man / Of All That Breathe And Crawl Across The Earth.

In Youth And Beauty, Wisdom Is But Rare!