Do not apologize for the wrath of Time

For every countenance his blade shall score;

Each visage born of flesh, though once sublime,

By siege of life shall feel that ruthless sword.

What battle grand does not bestow its scars

Where staunchest ardor did by heart propel,

What greater proof of undiminished wars

Than marks recalling Caesar’s glorious hell?

For of such passage where’s the sign of strife

If cherub faces counted struggles waged,

Yet bore no badge of unforgiving fight

And how they triumphed nobly o’er that rage.

Unblemished faces here shall court despise—

True warriors seldom sport a flawless guise.