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!