As wave is driven by wave And each, pursued, pursues the wave ahead, So time flies on and follows, flies, and follows, Always, for ever and new. What was before Is left behind; what never was is now; And every passing moment is renewed.

I am the poet of the poor, because I was poor when I loved; since I could not give gifts, I gave words.

Not knowing what he sees, he adores the sight; That false face fools and fuels his delight

I have never injured anybody with a mordant poem; my verse contains charges against nobody. Ingenuous, I have shunned wit steeped in venom--not a letter of mine is dipped in poisonous jest.

Poetry comes fine-spun from a mind at peace.