but that which can be seen
upon another's brow, or
etched upon the settled leaves-
no truth's to be avowed,
if by life written it can be.
To seek in sonorous verve
escaping others' lips,
do not to this too oft resort
nor seek in it the verity
engraved on all that is,
do not for truth in this confide
when only life can it emit.
If only, then, a man could find
this score on his own being impressed,
there's no thing time could e'er deny,
it would bare all at his behest.
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