| The intellect of man is forced to choose |
| Perfection of the life, or of the work, |
| And if it take the second must refuse |
| A heavenly mansion, raging in the dark. |
| When all that story’s finished, what’s the news? |
| In luck or out the toil has left its mark: |
| That old perplexity an empty purse, |
| Or the day’s vanity, the night’s remorse. |