All Empire Is No More

What I Have Left Is From My Native Spring; I've Still A Heart That Swells, In Scorn Of Fate, And Lifts Me To My Banks.

Drinking Is The Soldier's Pleasure.

The Perverseness Of My Fate Is Such That He's Not Mine Because He's Mine Too Much.

All, As They Say, That Glitters Is Not Gold.

The Glorious Lamp Of Heaven, The Radiant Sun, Is Nature's Eye.