Thy artistry has touched all types of men
And fashioned them again to forms we know
So when the curtain rises 'tis as though
They speak again. Father Serra then
Enters Mission Walls and roses blow as when
He spoke. And now I hear the voice of Romeo
In gardens where our loves in May still go
So plays thy voice, the harp Aeolion!
Old Lear hath found a gratitude in thee
And Woolsey proves sincerity through you,
And if for sight of all the Seven Ages.
I seek a miniature, behold I see
Its perfect form. To every man his due
Master of Make Believe, we are your pages!