In summer here below
Where little roses blow,
The sky looks down with quiet eyes
The sky he laughs and then he cries.
He makes a tear to fall below,
To help the little roses grow.
Fame

Man wax in might and conquer heights unreached,
Or yet in wisdom sound the fathoms deep.
But still time's withered roads, yet unimpeached,
Guide hither few whose standards men will keep.
Than live the myriads out their lives in vain?
Or so the great upon the lesser rest
Til one of nations, of a people twain.
Might tread through time the myriad to attest?
And if the Lords of mothers sons who live
Their lives in weary tandem throughout the years
Collect the stuff of greatness unto one to give,
His stature as the sum of theirs appears/

And mine's enhanced, for this I ken:
A life when lived is a monument to men.