You, who still read my works of art,
Your praise supports and lifts my heart,
It plants in me the muse own seed.
And I obey the ancient creed
Therefore to you I make this start

To honor you, the bright and smart
The kind, the true, on you I impart
All blessings from my lips proceed
To you, who still read.

Let fortune fly like the Gods’ own dart
But I alas must now depart
Your praise to me does well exceed
My worth and yet I’ll try to bleed
One work to earn your praise indeed
You, who still read.