That is no session for old men. The young

With lithe legs and arms stretch like sapling trees

We, flailing generation whose Latin songs

Fail inflamed and arthritic joints to ease

We began at eight, it’s now ten, how long

Before one amongst us succumbs, and dies?

Caught in that sensual music all wrecked

Monuments of years of bad neglect

An agèd man is but a tragic ...

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